For nearly four years I was going out to see my mom every week for lunch. Then this Covid19 crap hit. It was almost one year ago that we all agreed Mom living in her own house was not feasible anymore. At ninety seven years old she was still relatively healthy, she got around easily in her electric cart, and seemed to enjoy her home. But her short term memory was short circuiting and the fear that she would fall and hurt herself worried us. We did hire a series of ladies to live with her for a year or so, but that was expensive. Besides, we'd get used to a lady helper and start feeling comfortable, then the lady helper would quit. I think we went through eleven of them. It is quite possible that some of them quit because Mom would 'gaslight' them. She didn't think she needed a hired 'lady friend' to watch over her. Anyway, Mom is now at a facility. A very nice facility, and she has her own apartment in that facility. The problem is that when the Covid19 hit, they locked that place down tighter than a Tupperware bowl. For that we thank them because now at ninety eight years old, Mom is healthy. However, for months we weren't allowed to visit her. Now they've begun an outdoor visiting program and I've been able to see Mom twice. Second time was yesterday. We had a four o'clock appointment to see her, and at four they rolled her out onto the little patio. Mom was told to stay behind the yellow line on her side of the patio. Eight feet away, we were confined to an area behind another yellow line. Visits are limited to forty five minutes, masks must be worn, and everybody must pass the entrance interview which includes not having a fever. So there we were, me and two of my sisters, looking at Mom from afar, shouting questions and family news at her. Did I mention that Mom is hard of hearing? So I would yell something over to her and Mom would say, "What?" Then my sisters would shout across the great divide and Mom would say, "What?" My older sister, Peggy, kept making the mistake of using long sentences which would result in Mom looking over at the rest of us and asking, "What is she saying?" After forty five minutes of this I had a headache and I had to pee really bad. That's how locked down that place is. They wouldn't even allow me to go inside and use the restroom.
No worries; looks like she's on the road for the "Good behaviour" list, so she should be free for visits in about 6-9 months...then maybe she can talk with the parole board for outings?
ReplyDeleteOn a more logical note, when my dad began to fail, he could no longer speak nor hear. It was frustrating for me to watch the nurses just YELL at him trying to get him to understand. I went to the Dollar Tree and picked up a large white board and markers. Every time I went for visits I would just write in large block letters so we could communicate... it was slow, but he could at least understand what we were saying to each other. He was too weak to speak back, but we made a code of eye blinks and hand raises, finger wiggles, etc. that helped him respond. It helped us a lot. I left it and also a large paper pad with simple frequently used phrases "I need to check your vitals" "Thank you Mr. Pender" yada yada, so that the nurses and Drs could also communicate with him better, some of them were still too bothered to use it, but those who did gained our thanks ands respect.