THE SONIC BOOMER
I got a call that my mother was in the hospital, so I raced up to Wisconsin to check on her and, of course, to try to get the whole story. Our family is very big on stories.
Evidently, when the nurse at the assisted living facility came to mom’s apartment to wake her up and give her her morning pills, mom was not in bed. Because mom’s an early riser, the nurse thought she may have gone downstairs, so she turned to leave.
That’s when she saw mom’s foot in the closet… and, of course, the rest of her. Somehow, during the night, mom had walked, crawled or fallen into the open double doors of her closet and gotten herself all the way to the back corner, where she was now huddled inside a mass of clothing, shoes, backpacks, old canes and whatnot. She had somehow dragged her walker in there, too, and said she was “with dad.” Dad died several years ago.
Because survivalist mom had made this outstanding mess of warmth for herself, the nurse couldn’t extricate her. It took a policeman and several paramedics for that.
Bones were not broken, but no one knew how many hours she’d been in there, and her neck had been stretched at a bad angle, so she’s in a lot of pain. Other than that, physically, she’s fine. I’m worried about what’s going on inside her head, though.
Now 96, mom has begun having periods of forgetfulness, and you know what doesn’t help that any? Toppling over now and then. So my siblings and I have started to look at memory care centers on the sly.
This is a sad thing. If you think nursing homes are the end of the line, they are not. It gets worse. Now that mom has settled into her beautifully outfitted apartment, made friends with all the residents and nurses, and gotten to know where everything in the building is, we’re supposed to yank her out of there into a place that offers even more care and less atmosphere.
But her current facility has rules, and if you are incapable of pressing your help button, you are out. I tried to explain this to her in gentler terms. “But just because I didn’t press it doesn’t mean I couldn’t press it,” she argued.
“You couldn’t press it if it’s on your nightstand and you’re in the closet,” I answered. “Plus, you are the personality type that doesn’t like to ask for help — ever.”
But here’s the thing… I was able to have this conversation because mom was now having a totally lucid day. And lucidity only allows her to remember as lucid. That’s the insidiousness of it all. Trying to explain things, I asked, “Do you remember what we did yesterday, mom?”
She shook her head.
“Yesterday, you told me we were ‘making’ lettuce, that your last name is Bailey not Welky, and that a lot of men work at the Y. None of that is too concerning, but it’s so random. Then you repeatedly sorted through four baskets of old mail and got lost behind the bathroom door.”
“Hmmm,” she said with a long pause. “So you’re telling me I’m losing my mind?” I answered as honestly as I could. “Not today.”
Not today, but maybe soon. I’d be sadder about it, but she has to be in a safe place. Not only that, but the random thoughts are so darn interesting.
