No More "Driving Miss Daisy"

Mom passed her driving evaluation today. She scored above average on the written portion and then went on to successfully motor the freeways and back roads of Greenville County for an hour and a half with the evaluator.

“So, now you owe me $230,” she grinned. I was upstairs at work in the office when she plopped down into the rocking chair and looked for all the world like the cat who ate the canary. To say she was pleased with herself would be a gross understatement. Before leaving with Larre for the evaluation, she made a bet with me that she would pay for the test if she flunked it, but I would pay if she passed. “Deal,” I said and was sincere in wishing her well. But I was also steeling myself for the expected depression and emotional storm that would come with failure.

“I don’t want anyone else getting on my case about driving anymore,” she scolded me. 

“I’ll not say another word,” I promised, then added with a wink, “except to tell you to go to Walgreens and pick up your own meds.” 

She abruptly straightened, chin up, and smiled self-assuredly. “I think I will do just that.” And with that, Moxie Mom strode out of the office.

The Mom, Not-Mom Diary

Sometimes I read about caregivers describing victims of dementia as Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde or the Good-Mom / Bad-Mom.  Our Mom has begun the Long Good-Bye of dementia and we do not know how much longer she will be the Mom we have known, loved, quarreled with, hugged, and now care for. Sometimes the dementia takes hold and its almost as if her mind has stepped outside for a while and left only the alarm system engaged. At those times she doesn’t really seem like our Mom. She looks like our Mom, dresses like Mom, but has mysteriously changed into this odd little woman who seems familiar and we think “Surely this person is not really our Mom.” She’s Not-Mom. As I chronicle this journey I realize my siblings, our Mom, and I are starting along a path none of us has ever taken. Others have passed this way before and thankfully left helpful signposts so we don’t stray too far. Some call words of encouragement from afar. But the actual day-to-day passage is ours to tread.  I beg in advance your indulgence for my clumsy attempts to express what we – my siblings, Mom, spouses, and I – are experiencing. I am writing this for us. We are the frogs in the pan on the stove. The flame is slowly being turned up and we are gently cooking before we even know it. Recording our halting steps along this path is one way of remembering what it was like when the water was cooler. Like our pioneer ancestors, we can sing as we walk. The journey will be hard. We will get discouraged. But there is also much joy, hope, and unexpected good fortune on this trail. I pray we will look back on this journey someday with gratitude for the blessings it has brought to our lives. One day Mom will join our Dad on the Other Side, completely free from the mental chains of dementia. When it’s our turn to make that Final Passage, we will meet her there and enjoy our Mom – our whole, 110%, vibrant, independent, feisty, loving, caring Mom – once again.

Not-Mom Came Back Today

Today Not-Mom appeared. I haven’t seen her in a while and was beginning to wonder if she’d taken an extended vacation. I came into the kitchen after my workout as Mom was finishing up last night’s dishes. (Note to self: always make sure the kitchen is cleaned up before going to bed, because getting up to dirty dishes in the sink puts her in a bad mood). As I began preparing breakfast, Not-Mom launched into me about how my siblings and I are trying to “deep-six” her by not letting her drive. “I don’t know why I have to take a driving evaluation! Have I ever scared you when I’ve been driving?” I deferred answering that question and tried to helpfully suggest that perhaps we ought to let the driving evaluator make the determination about her driving. “I have no doubt I’ll pass,” she insisted. “That’s fine,” I said. “When that happens I’ll not say another word about it.” She ranted for several more minutes while I busied myself with poaching my eggs and not saying anything. I have learned one important lesson: it is pointless to try to reason with someone who has dementia, they just don’t get it. I told her that I called the driving evaluator yesterday and left a message. I shouldn’t have said this, but I reminded her that she had been carrying the driving evaluation referral form around in her purse for 3 weeks and that was why we hadn’t been able to schedule her driving appointment. She wouldn’t let Sioux have it when Sioux took her for her cognitive evaluation last month and insisted she didn’t have it when I asked about it. I saw it when she opened her purse at the doctor’s office on Thursday. A few days later I encouraged her to look in her purse for the referral and while she was pulling out the flotsam and jetsam from her purse – all the while protesting she didn’t have it – she “discovered” it. She received a death benefit check today then went upstairs into the office and puttered around through the files for about an hour or two, later telling Larre that she wanted me to teach her how to use the computer so she could manage her own finances. Poor dear, it’s not going to happen, I thought. I spent two hours several weeks ago in a futile attempt to show her how to access her email, bank accounts and pay bills online. I could have accomplished the same tasks in 5 minutes. Even when I create easy step-by-step illustrated instructions (and my documentation is quite good – I’ve done it in a corporate setting for my job), like I did with her Facebook account, she gets confused and frustrated. So I found a blank ledger book and took it to her. “How about you keep the accounts manually on paper and I’ll keep a backup on the computer,” I said. “I’ll print out your bank transactions and you can record them here," referring to the ledger. She seemed to warm to this idea. “The library is offering computer classes, I think,” Mom said hopefully. “I’ll sign up for a class.” Nodding reassuringly, I know she will never go, never learn how to use the computer, and probably lose interest in the ledger within a few weeks.  I think she knows her mental capacities are diminished, is in denial about it, and disturbed at the prospect. No one wants to feel like their mind – once vibrant and so in control – is slipping away. I see the child behind her eyes stomping her foot and screaming, “I can do it myself!”