Gone. Forgotten?
Today my parents and I went to visit my grandmother in the nursing home at Langebaan. When we received a call on Thursday tellings us that she has lung infection, we decided to go visit. My grandmother suffers from dementia/Alzheimer's Disease and has deteriorated (mentally and, as we saw today, physically) dramatically since the beginning of the year. I had not seen her in more than six months and, to my shame, tried to avoid seeing her. But I felt it was time and today we prepared ourselves and journeyed along the West Coast to her new home.
At the beginning of the year, it was still possible to have an intelligible conversation with my grandmother, even though she had been showing mental deterioration for quite some time. Within the first half of this year, she crashed (for a lack of a better word) completely. I could see her in her bed as we walked down the hall, and at first I didn't want to believe what I saw. She was thin, frail and looking bewildered. I don't know if they had recently given her her medication or what, but it was especially difficult to communicate with her. The nurse said that today was one of her worse days. Her speech was inaudible and incomplete. She looked confused and indecisive. We later took her out in a wheelchair and my mother gave her some tea. After that we could understand more words (“thank you” and “please” - she said “please” a few times, but could not communicate to us what she wanted or needed). We stayed for a couple of hours, then came home.
I didn't expect her to recognise me. She doesn't even recognise her own children anymore. But there was hope. She looked at me a few times – perhaps she did remember me. Or, after my mother told her my name, my name rang a bell with her (I am my grandfather's namesake). She kept fidgeting: the nursing staff said she is always fidgeting with her hands. At one time it looked like she was trying to get the “flowers” (the patterns) out from her duvet. She also once tried to give me either her duvet or something “in” it (before she went to the nursing home, she gave away many of her possessions without thinking twice about it – she would have given away everything if we didn't stop her). Some people might say that her eyes were vacant. They were different, but I don't think they were vacant. They were searching – looking for a way to express her basic needs and requirements. And her emotions. They were searching desperately; but in vain. All I could do was smile at her to at least be a friendly face to her.
People say she is like a child. I hate that simile, especially when the one nurse treated her like a child to try and get her to wave us off. Yes, she did wave by herself with the encouragement, but I found the tone of the nurses' voice demeaning. She is not a child; alas, her situation is vastly more complex than that of a child. A child grows every day and becomes stronger and smarter. Every new word learned is an opportunity for expressing him or herself. A child literally absorbs knowledge like a sponge. With my grandmother, the opposite happens: every day sees memories and skills forgotten. Every word that slips from her mind closes off a near infinite number of ways of communication. I fear the skills and expertise are not available to her to combat the regression. I do not believe, however, that the picture that is her mind is gone. In stead, it lies jumbled in a thousand pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. The picture is still there amongst all the pieces, but making sense of it is so, so hard.
Today was a double whammy for me. Not only did I have to see my grandmother in her diminished state for the first time, but I also had to see my mother see her. My mother has lost her mother, even though she is still there. I can't imagine it – I can't. My mother's tears are rare and priced more than saffron. She has carried more weight in her lifetime than was necessary. And still she carries on. She keeps fighting and moving on, no matter how difficult or trying times are. Even when the world crushes her, she can still take on the needs of a loved one. I admire her greatly for that. Atlas doesn't have a thing on her. Not only does she have to deal with the world and the family's woes, but her mind also taunts her that she might very well one day end up like my grandmother.
My grandmother was a good person and deserves the best. She deserves care, respect and rest. She led a good life and I am proud of her. I am glad that I went today. I don't know if I shall ever see her again.
At the beginning of the year, it was still possible to have an intelligible conversation with my grandmother, even though she had been showing mental deterioration for quite some time. Within the first half of this year, she crashed (for a lack of a better word) completely. I could see her in her bed as we walked down the hall, and at first I didn't want to believe what I saw. She was thin, frail and looking bewildered. I don't know if they had recently given her her medication or what, but it was especially difficult to communicate with her. The nurse said that today was one of her worse days. Her speech was inaudible and incomplete. She looked confused and indecisive. We later took her out in a wheelchair and my mother gave her some tea. After that we could understand more words (“thank you” and “please” - she said “please” a few times, but could not communicate to us what she wanted or needed). We stayed for a couple of hours, then came home.
I didn't expect her to recognise me. She doesn't even recognise her own children anymore. But there was hope. She looked at me a few times – perhaps she did remember me. Or, after my mother told her my name, my name rang a bell with her (I am my grandfather's namesake). She kept fidgeting: the nursing staff said she is always fidgeting with her hands. At one time it looked like she was trying to get the “flowers” (the patterns) out from her duvet. She also once tried to give me either her duvet or something “in” it (before she went to the nursing home, she gave away many of her possessions without thinking twice about it – she would have given away everything if we didn't stop her). Some people might say that her eyes were vacant. They were different, but I don't think they were vacant. They were searching – looking for a way to express her basic needs and requirements. And her emotions. They were searching desperately; but in vain. All I could do was smile at her to at least be a friendly face to her.
People say she is like a child. I hate that simile, especially when the one nurse treated her like a child to try and get her to wave us off. Yes, she did wave by herself with the encouragement, but I found the tone of the nurses' voice demeaning. She is not a child; alas, her situation is vastly more complex than that of a child. A child grows every day and becomes stronger and smarter. Every new word learned is an opportunity for expressing him or herself. A child literally absorbs knowledge like a sponge. With my grandmother, the opposite happens: every day sees memories and skills forgotten. Every word that slips from her mind closes off a near infinite number of ways of communication. I fear the skills and expertise are not available to her to combat the regression. I do not believe, however, that the picture that is her mind is gone. In stead, it lies jumbled in a thousand pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. The picture is still there amongst all the pieces, but making sense of it is so, so hard.
Today was a double whammy for me. Not only did I have to see my grandmother in her diminished state for the first time, but I also had to see my mother see her. My mother has lost her mother, even though she is still there. I can't imagine it – I can't. My mother's tears are rare and priced more than saffron. She has carried more weight in her lifetime than was necessary. And still she carries on. She keeps fighting and moving on, no matter how difficult or trying times are. Even when the world crushes her, she can still take on the needs of a loved one. I admire her greatly for that. Atlas doesn't have a thing on her. Not only does she have to deal with the world and the family's woes, but her mind also taunts her that she might very well one day end up like my grandmother.
My grandmother was a good person and deserves the best. She deserves care, respect and rest. She led a good life and I am proud of her. I am glad that I went today. I don't know if I shall ever see her again.
posted by phantom-99w at 06:56
1 Comments:
Ai, this is so hard.
I know a woman (a good friend's mother) who is in the earlier stages: She can still hold a good conversation. But five minutes later, she will hold the same conversation again. And the next day. And the next. It is scary like your grndmother too, because she is otherwise healthy. Her mind will probably go completely the rest of her body goes. And it angers her to realise this.
>> My mother has lost her mother, even though she is still there.
Perhaps you have heard, people sometimes call Alzheimer's Disease "the long goodbye".
Moeilik.
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