Where does time go? Already September and I haven't seen Summer. From challenge to challenge, life moves forward and you don't notice time slipping by.My mother has finally been prescribed the Ebixa. It seems to be bringing benefits, although I'm not counting the chickens before they are hatched. A definite conclusion to be drawn from this experience is that the doctor who treats the patient is important. If he is lapsadaisical in his treatment, does not have the professional ethics to keep up-to-date on treatments and does not follow up on medication side effects, the patient (and the caregiver) suffer. Needless to say, I am looking for a new physician. This one has done enough damage.
I have found a nurse specializing in geriatrics who visits twice a week. She checks vital signs, both for high blood pressure and type II diabetes. She evaluates mobility and suggests activities that can stimulate memory. Just having a professional assess my mother's well being rather than relying on my (limited) knowledge is a relief in itself.
My latest challenge is to find someone who is competent (and honest) to redo the small bathroom in my mother's room. Handles on the wall adjacent to the bathtub, tiles (walls and floor) so that cleaning is simplified. The recent adverse effects from the medication taught me that anything that will simplify cleaning up is invaluable.
The ergonomist also suggested having a gravel path from the lower floor entrance through the garden for security in icy conditions. Up to now, a path was shoveled over the grass. It can get slippery. At times, if ice builds up on the roof over the front entrance, it's treacherous to use that door until it can be removed. An alternate entrance is vital. The alternative would be that my mother would not go out during Winter. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
For years now, my mother's symptoms evolved. The third floor slowly became a true attic and junk yard. Empty gift bags and boxes, Christmas decorations and lights left where they were dropped on the floor, old books, unused furniture... over the years it became a mess. I've been sorting through the jumble, regrouping empty gift boxes and bags, Christmas decorations, books, papers, old radios that don't work anymore... when all is sorted and reassembled, the garbage will be going to the dump. The same has to be done in the garage. It's depressing work, it stirs memories, but it has to be done.
In the garage, my boxes of dishes and knick-knacks were stored when I moved to my mother's house. I'm also going through those boxes to separate what I absolutely want to keep and what I will give away or sell. The purpose of all this activity is that when Mum passes away, I can call in the movers to pick up my things within the week. I don't want to have to deal with funeral arrangements, sibling issues and packing my things up at the same time. I'm using up whatever energy I have left while I have it to plan for the aftermath. Strange as it may seem, it keeps a measure of sanity alive.
At the end of September, we will be going for a few days on the seacoast. My sister will be visiting for 10 days and we will go off, as we did in the past, the three women of the family together, for a minivacation by the sea. My mother is looking forward to this and so am I. A change of setting will be welcome. With the rapid progression of her illness, it will probably be the last time she is aware of our presence and of our identity. Bittersweet times.
Food issues are still ongoing. Meals take up to 2 hours. I have to coax, badger, instruct, remind for every bite that is taken. Meals leave me exhausted and I am developing an aversion to food and food preparation. I'm fighting a losing battle.
