My mother-in-law is 82 years old
and suffering from mid -stage dementia. She can remember the past as far as you
could throw it which is significant, but the present is unreachable. I sit near
the doorway of her room at the memory care facility, where air flow can relieve
me of the horrible smell of dirty bedclothes and excrement. I sit with her as she lays on her
side in bed. Making polite conversation which has the pattern of repetition of
questions and answers I politely repeat. The same answers over and over and I
don’t get bored as the smell keeps me sharply aware that the visit will , must
be, kept short. I ask her if she has had any other visitors knowing that she
will not remember. However, her friend from Queens, Joanne, has come to visit
and she tells me so. I see a Valentine’s Day card perched on her night table.
“It looks like someone sent you a
card. May I see it?”
As she begins to roll towards the
table she suddenly cups her hand over her mouth and says, “I am going to throw
up.”
I quickly leave the room to fetch
the health-aide who takes her time as she makes her way into my mother-in-law’s
room.
“Is she ok?” I ask.
“Yes. She is fine. She hasn’t
thrown up yet.” She reaches under a cabinet and pulls out a few of those
wee-wee pad-type things that old people sit on when we don’t want them to mess
up the furniture. I wish we had a few of those on our sofa for the last few
visits- Thanksgiving and Christmas when my poor mother-in-law lost control of
her bowels and bladder on our sofa. It was a sad situation which caused her
great shame and embarrassment as she cleaned herself in our bathroom, refusing
the help we offered.
“Take me home. I am so humiliated.
I don’t want to stay here.”
She promptly forgot .
A man with an industrial carpet
cleaner comes up and starts working on her room. I watch the health aide motion
instructions to him with her arms.
“…the rug next to the bed.”
I guess she threw up.
I guess she threw up.
She comes out and says, “my son had
this. It lasts 24 hours and nothing comes out. Not much comes out after a
while.” She smiles in a bored and disgusted way. I can tell she doesn’t like
puke, something I totally can relate to.
“I’m calling the nurse up here.”
Angie, the nurse, comes up and she
tells me that my mother-in-law is fine. No fever and there has been a stomach
virus going around. Something I know and feel IT is seeping into my bloodstream
as I stand there breathing in the same air as my mother-in-law. I feel panicked
and cannot wait to get the hell out of there.
“So, you’re the daughter?”
“Daughter-in-law”, I correct her
feeling rather proud of myself for showing up on a disgusting day to check on
my sick mother-in-law. Dutiful me.
“We know her son and the little
girl.”
“That’s Greg, her son and my
daughter.”
What a nice little girl.”
I add, “you know she is nicer now
with the dementia. Nicer than she’s ever been.”
The nurse and health aide look
amused.
“Nicer since the dementia?” They
say in unison.
“You should have seen her before.
She is warm and fuzzy now.”
“Really?” Disbelief. “She’s got
some spirit to her. Can be quite sarcastic (laughter).”
I think, I know and can only
imagine the racial slurs each of them has suffered.
“Oh, yeah. She’s a real pussy cat
compared to her former self. Nicer than ever.”
I thank them for their help and I
head toward the locked elevator.
“What is the code?”
“I’ll lead you out. Come with me.”
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