A Sandwich Day

My maternal grandmother was a strong, wise, no-nonsense woman. Grandma used to talk about things that are sent to our lives with the sole purpose of "vexing" a person. Yesterday was definitely a day sent to vex me.

My kid was home sick from school. She's prone to bladder infections, and we don't have any warning until she curls up in a ball and runs a temperature. She was curled up in said ball running said temperature when I called mom for our daily check-in. Since the dementia invaded our lives, I can tell from the first words how mom is, and I structure my day accordingly.

"Hi Mom."

"Well, I've done it now."

"Why, what's wrong? What's happened?"

"I've locked myself in and I can't get out."

My mom's apartment has a deadbolt, a locking door and a security chain. The chain had been sticking and she hadn't used it in over a year. Monday night mom decided to put the chain on the door again, and now it was stuck fast and she couldn't get it out of the track. More important, I couldn't get in to help her.  This was big, and my kid was home sick.

Mom was panicking, and was clearly having what we call a "fuzzy" day, which means the confusion is particularly bad.  I kept her on the phone, I told her to get the WD-40 out of the closet and try it. That didn't work. She tried pushing it in, jiggling it and then we gave up, hung up and I called my father-in-law, who is a retired locksmith, and then I called the building superintendent. Between the two of them, they were able to go to mom's, cut the chain off and get in to mom before I could herd the kid out the door and go over. I've told the superintendent that I will pay to replace the chain after mom leaves.

It was a repeat everything 5 times day.  These days are vexing in and of themselves. For example, we are planning to go out for brunch on Mother's Day, and mom was writing it down to try to jog her brain into remembering. She was quite concerned that she didn't have a present for me, and I explained to her-again-that I was the present giver this time and she was the present getter.

"So I'm not a mother then?" she said, looking quite confused. My daughter, who had been playing quietly in the corner on my Playbook, looked up instantly at that.

"You're my mom, mom, and I'm the Kid's mom. She buys me a present and I buy you a present." I explained. We've had this conversation a few times the past week, but I can normally shield it from the Kid.

It took two more rounds before mom settled down, but I could tell it had bothered the Kid. I've tried to shield her from the day to day life of dementia as much as possible. She understands that Grandma is sick, but lives in hope of Grandma getting better so they can resume their time together without me. On the good days, my mother floats the idea of watching the Kid again. We tried it when the Kid came home sick on Monday because I had a business meeting with a new client. My husband went over and had lunch with them, so mom and the Kid were only alone about an hour total, and the Kid called me partway through, a sure sign her anxiety was kicking in.

The vex wasn't done with me yet. While finishing off the lunch dishes, I turned on the cold water in the kitchen to rinse out the sink. When I tried to turn it off, the tap spun in a merry circle, doing absolutely zip-squat to turn off the water which was blasting full force into the sink. I called my father-in-law (again) to ask him how I turn it off, and when I  walked into the living room to grab my phone book to call the superintendent's cell phone (again) I turned around to find my mother on her hands and knees under the sink investigating. She then couldn't get up, so I had to wrap my arms around her under her arms and lift her up off the floor. I couldn't find the shut off valve under the sink, so the superintendent had to come and replace the taps. A day that was sent to vex me.

It's a tightrope,this dance of dementia. I have to balance my mom's need to see her only granddaughter with the increase in my daughter's anxiety if mom is having a fuzzy day.  Some times, like this week, I have no option, and the Kid has to come with, even though I know mom is having a bad day. I don't push the issue, and wait for the Kid to talk when she's ready.

There is no win in this. There is only juggling as fast as I can, balancing the needs of my mom, my daughter, my family and me, and hoping that the days that are sent to vex me are few and far between.

"When Grandma gets better..."

My mother and my daughter are the best of friends. From the time my mom first laid eyes on her granddaughter, it's been a closer than close relationship. The Kid loves going to grandma's house, where "grandma lets her do anything." From filling the bathtub to the rim to eating ice cream out of a crystal ashtray, eating ice cream right out of the container to drinking juice out of the crystal wine glasses, grandma's apartment is a magical place.

 On nights when my husband had to work and I had other commitments, the Kid would go and hang out at Grandma's until daddy was finished work. She packed up her treasures, ransacked my mom's apartment, and although my mom was laid out the next day, she lived for those mother-granddaughter moments.

We did try a sleepover once, even though my kid didn't "sleep" in those days (we hadn't discovered melatonin yet). We were at a stag and doe for our friend's daughter when my cell phone rang at 2330 hrs. It was my mother, 'fessing up that she had fallen getting out of bed on the wrong side (because the Kid was lying beside her in the twin bed) and had "cut her hand." For my mother to be admitting that she cut her hand, I knew it was bad, so we headed over to my mom's immediately.

What my mother described as "cutting her hand" was in actuality a wound that needed 28 stitches. My mother took daily prednisone for years and her skin is like rice paper. She had hit her hand on the door knob when she fell and peeled all the skin off the back of her hand. She and my then 5 year old had managed to bandage it, and my amazing little girl tried to help grandma clean up the blood. Mom had a rubber glove on it to stop the blood from seeping through, and wasn't going to tell me until she started to feel light-headed and decided that maybe it wasn't a good idea...The Kid took it all in stride, but was pretty happy to see grandma the next morning.

All of our lives have changed since mom's medical crisis. The Kid is very empathic, intuitive and tuned into the vibrations of the house and of others. Her anxiety went off the charts when my mom went into crisis. The Kid who would call grandma five times a day if I let her refused to talk to grandma on the phone, and didn't want to visit grandma in the hospital.One visit to hospital to see grandma sent her OCD and Anxiety off the charts and gave the teacher a very difficult couple of days.

The Kid knows that sometimes grandmas don't come home from hospital because her paternal grandma didn't and is now an angel. Once my mom was home and settled into her apartment again, the Kid and my husband came over. It's different now-grandma is frail and weak and can't do the things she could do even a couple of months ago. The Kid is getting back into the habit of phoning grandma to tell her tales. The Kid loves repeating and grandma won't necessarily remember so it's a win-win.

The Kid is pretty smart, but she's still a child. She keeps making future plans that begin with "when Grandma is well enough to babysit me again..." A couple of days ago, she lay on the couch, her head on grandma's lap, my mother gently smoothing the Kid's hair. The Kid was talking a blue streak, making all kinds of plans that started with "when Grandma gets better and she can babysit again..." My mother looked up and caught my eye, and then looked away as my eyes welled with tears. We both know Grandma's babysitting days are over.

I have always been very cognizant of the fact that Grandma and Granddaughter have a finite amount of time together. I pray that it will be long enough for my daughter to remember her grandma. My mother, on her 80th birthday, announced to the whole family that "the Kid was her reward for 80 years of living" and that was true. It breaks my heart to see that relationship change, but it's not safe to leave my daughter alone with grandma any more, for either one of them.

My maternal grandmother was one of the most influential women in my life. She loved fiercely, told it as she saw it, and called us out when we were doing something she didn't approve of. She was all of 5 feet tall and weighed about 98 lbs in full clothes. She once took on a drug dealer with a cast iron frying pan because he turned up on the doorstep and threatened my cousin. We always knew that grandma loved us no matter what, even if she didn't particularly LIKE our choices at a given point in time. May my daughter know that her grandma loves her like that and may she remember it.