Let mom go to memory care

Today, I did the second hardest thing I’ve ever done: I took my mom’s cat.

Mom’s assisted living facility called last Thursday. “we strong You are encouraged to consider getting your mother into memory care,” the director told me. “I know we discussed this a year ago when you and your family thought she wasn’t ready. We think she’s ready now. She refuses to take medicine. She refuses to eat. She is wandering. She was more confused than ever. “

I called my brother Jeff, who has been in charge of most of my mom’s care since she moved to Happy Manor ten years ago. “What do you think?” I asked.

“I think they were right,” he said. “Mum has been to the emergency room 3 times since mid-November. After each visit to the hospital, she seemed to be more awake, but quickly disappeared. Within a day of returning home, she had another accident. Her confusion It seems to be getting worse.”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re right. Even when she’s awake, she’s lost. Remember when she called me from the hospital two weeks ago? One time she said full sentences, but the sentences didn’t make sense. She Asked to see the sheriff. She was talking about her dog, but she hasn’t had a dog since the 1980s.”

Then I added, “The hard part is that if she moves to a memory care center, she can’t have a cat. She loves that cat.”

happy acre

On July 21, 2011, the 16th anniversary of my father’s death, my mother moved into Happy Acres. She is 63 years old.

She had been living alone at the family homestead — the home my grandparents owned when I was a boy — for all sixteen of those years after Dad died. But without us noticing, Mom began to slide into…well, the doctors cannot tell us what she was sliding into. But it was something like dementia.

That summer, we realized that she was having problems.

• Her schizophrenia exploded. (She insisted the neighbors were firing guns at all hours. They didn’t own a gun. She reported conversations and events that never took place. And so on.)
• She became unable to take her medication reliably. (She’d miss doses or, more often, take a day’s worth of doses at once. Sometimes two days.)
• Plus, she was what the medical folks call “non verbal”. That is, she couldn’t communicate what she was thinking and feeling. (Except on those random rare occasions when she could carry on a nearly-normal conversation.)

The final straw came when Mom drove her car through the back of the garage. My brothers and I knew then that something had to be done. And when the doctors told us they couldn’t explain what was wrong, we made the difficult decision: We found a memory care facility with an open spot and moved her in.

Mom didn’t like the memory care unit at Happy Acres. She shared her apartment with another resident. Mom wanted privacy. She didn’t like the social activities. She wanted to sit alone in her room and watch the Home Shopping Network. She wanted her cats. (She had two cats when she was living on the family homestead.)

Within a few months, the staff at Happy Acres recommended that we move her upstairs to a private apartment outside the memory care space. That’s where she’s lived for the past ten years. She’s had two large rooms to herself. She spends most of her time watching the Home Shopping Network (still), but for a long time she seemed to enjoy going downstairs at mealtimes, sitting in the same chair at the same table with the same people.

Mom missed her cats, though, so before Kim and I left for our year-long RV trip in 2015, I drove her to the Humane Society. There, she chose a cat. (And the cat chose her.) For seven years, sweet little Bonnie has been Mom’s closest companion. She loves that beast, and the beast loves her.

In the past year, however, Mom’s health has declined – and so has Bonnie’s. Bonnie wasn’t a strong animal to begin with, and her teeth problems made it painful for her to eat. As a result, she lost a lot of weight. Meanwhile, Mom has her own problems.

For the most part, her health at Happy Acres has been stable (except for her ongoing confusion and ongoing “non-verbal” state). Recently, though, she’s started having digestive issues. These problems led to 3 emergency room visits at the end of the year. Over the past two months, Jeff and I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to figure out the best course of action for mom.

When Happy Acres called last week to suggest moving mom to a memory care center, we agreed it was time. Her fourth trip to the emergency room over the weekend only reinforced that decision. Then, when Jeff visited Mom earlier this week, he texted me: “It feels like she’s just waiting to die. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t take medicine. She doesn’t have clothes on.”

Logically, we think this is the best move. Emotionally, however, it was tough.

Turn to memory care

Today, I drove to sign papers. However, I procrastinated as much as I could, which was a clear sign that I didn’t want to. I took the longest route, winding down Oregon country roads. I stopped at the bookstore for half an hour (I didn’t buy anything). I stopped for lunch. But in the end, I couldn’t put it off any longer.

At Happy Acres, the person in charge showed me my mom’s new room. It’s small. This is the size of a college dorm. Plus, it’s sterile. We went upstairs to see Mom’s set up and I was overwhelmed.Her current space is At least Four times the size of the new space, she doesn’t have to share it with anyone. Mom may not be able to communicate and may not be able to tell us her thoughts and feelings, but the photos and furniture around her remind her of her life. When she moves, she loses a lot.

“Mom,” I said, “I’m here because we think it’s time for you to come downstairs. You need more help than they can give you here, so they want you to go to a memory care center.”

“Oh,” she said. I don’t know if she understands.

“The room is small,” I said, “so you can’t take everything with you. Is there anything you want to make sure you take with you?”

“What?” she said.

“Anything to take to the Memory Sanitarium?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said.

“I have to bring Bonnie today,” I said.

“You will?” she said. She seemed to understand. But maybe not. Anyway, it broke my heart. Bonnie, who had been wrapped around my ankle, jumped onto Mom’s lap.

“Hi, Bonnie,” she said with a smile. She rarely smiles anymore.

While the girl at Happy Acres was copying the contract I just signed, I put away all my cat stuff. Mom strokes the cat. I can’t be sure, but it seems to me that her eyes are watering. She didn’t cry, but she seemed to be about to cry.

“Do you love your cat?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, and I died in it. How could I do this to her? How can I accept something that brings her everyday joy? I feel dirty. and meaning. Why don’t I just let Mom and I move in with Kim? In other cultures, this will be the expectation, the norm. Not in ours. I feel ruthless.

Then several things happened.

question oneself

First, when I was looking for Bonnie’s food, toys and trash, I noticed the condition of Mom’s apartment.

There is a potty on her bedside table. A recent “accident” caused her to not get to the bathroom in time, and stains were all over the floor. There are diapers in the closet.

I recall our recent conversation with the staff at Happy Acres about how difficult it was to get mom to eat, take medicine or perform basic hygiene.

Yes, mom can live with me and Kim, but am I able to have her take care of my full-time job? Would I feel comfortable leaving the house to run errands and leave her alone?

Secondly, Mom said something that reminded me of why she was at Happy Acres. As I was collecting gear, she asked me a question: “Are you moving in too?”

I realized that at that moment, she didn’t know who I was. She doesn’t know me. While I suspect this has happened in the past, this is the first time I’ve established that she thinks I’m a stranger.

“No, I’m not moving in,” I said. “I’m getting things ready so you can move to a place where they can take better care of you.”

I stayed for a while so mom could pet her cat. Then I hug her goodbye, say “I love you,” and drive back to Corvallis.

I still don’t know if this is the “correct” way to do it. It doesn’t feel right. But it also feels like the only option.And, as Jeff pointed out as I drove home, if we decide to do Yes Mother’s wrong choice is not irreversible. We can always move her back to the main living area in Happy Acres. Or maybe there are other facilities in the area that might be useful to her.

I realize there is a lot to look forward to, but I have high hopes that one day Mom can be reunited with Bonnie.

Just wait and see. Just wait and see.

renew: To ease her transition, I slept with Bonnie in the downstairs guest room last night. Doing so adds to my pain. Bonnie is cute, twice in the night she wakes me up to touch her.All I can think of is that for the past seven years, she woke up mother Touch her, not me. Last night, Mom had no cat to hold. How did that feel to her?