For six years, I've picked up Mom Saturday mornings for breakfast at the French bistro where our late beloved Sassy could sit under the table (or, on cold days, in the car) and finish off Mom's potatoes. Mom used to be outside with Sassy, waiting for me at 7:30. That has gradually shifted to my arriving at 8 to rouse her from bed, where she lolls the way her son used to do: "I'm getting up in a minute," she'll say, making no move at all. I do the old motherly things, saying "Rise and shine!" as I pull the blinds, turn on lights, play the news, and keep urging her. It's another hour before Mom has found clothes, decided whether to wear a sweater (asking twice, at least, "Is it cold out?") and has primped and preened to her satisfaction [see photos].
In these photos. we see one of several reminders typed by the staff to remind her that they -- not her controlling son! -- now require supervision for her, 24 / 7, "for her safety." The change has come since a morning in April when Mom left the campus without signing out. Staff found her a couple blocks away, unable to say where she lived, only that she was "going home."
Until this Saturday, I thought this was an over-reaction. Mom has been walking that territory with little Sassy for six years, now, and she has never remembered to sign out or to sign in, and she has never known her address. But this time, after our breakfast, as I signed her in, she asked me where her apartment is. She didn't remember where to find the elevator, or what floor, and she was uncertain which way to go off the elevator. She thought that this was an amusing situation.
So, she does indeed need supervision. But some nights, I'm getting phone messages of rage: "I see that they require me to have someone here 24 hours a day for my 'safety.' I can't imagine why!... I want this nice young lady out of my apartment! I am not a child!"
Sigh. I'm doing what I can. By next week, she'll be in a new place where the staff will keep an eye on her 24 / 7 by a combination of eyes in the hallway and electronic monitoring.
[This is latest in a series of posts collected in my Dementia Diary]
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