Four weeks ago today, mum was moved from the residential home she had been staying at since last November and into the nursing home where we expect she'll be for while yet. I must say the difference this move has made though has been positive and noticeable by all of us that have visited her, but now we've got to where we are I can't help feeling intensely guilty about how she had been wrenched from the comfort and routine of her home life with my dad. It's 4 months ago that it happened - 4 months that she hasn't stepped foot in the place she made her home for nearly 40 years.
The thing is, it wouldn't really be the first time she was taken away from her home and into unfamiliar surroundings, but that isn't something I think I've ever go into detail about here in this blog. It has been something I've had on my mind for years now.
Today though, I still feel the same dread whenever I'm making a visit to see her. I don't know if my father or my sister have the same feeling and I haven't asked. I don't think that will ever get any better, but at least on the last few occasions I've not had to witness her in the hysterically distressed states she has been in before while in the residential home.
The visit I made before last, I was greeted by the sight of her being led down the corridor in her underwear, a little emotional but not particularly distressed. Again, her voice was the first voice I heard when I got in the building. However, on that occasion the nurse and I managed to get her dressed and settled in her room and she was quite alright after a short while.
At my last visit, this past weekend, she was sat in the day room when I arrived, dressed and fairly clean, quite cheerfully tending to a cup of hot chocolate and biscuits with one of the members of staff. We left the day room and went to her own room just across the way, where we were able to spend time together to chat, listen to music and look through some old photos I had taken along.
My sister had brought along some Thai music tapes and I had brought along with me an old tape player my father still had at home. I actually remember buying her that player and she would listen to her Thai music - a particular style for the North East of Thailand. I was a little worried about playing the music now in case it triggered some emotion or memory and have an adverse effect on her mood, but she managed to have a little jig and move to the music while sat in her chair. After a while though she became distracted and wondered where the music was coming from.
What I felt quite encouraged at that visit was the fact that she told me she needed to use the bathroom, managed to get herself across the corridor to the toilet with me, use it without making a mess and even threw the tissue away down the pan. This may sound silly but previously it had been a very difficult thing to make sure she toileted properly and had a bad habit of storing the tissue or hiding it in places rather than flushing it down the toilet with everything else. She washed her hands, dressed herself properly and off we went back to her room.
I picked up on something my father had said too when he visited a couple of days before - that she looked particularly 'older' than she had been. I noticed it myself: she is losing weight, her facial features have slimmed down, her skin is changing. Even her eyes have become grey and misty.
I often wonder whether she knows where she is, or understands why she's there. It's a dreadful thing to think that they might believe that we've abandoned her, or don't want her. She might feel angry or sad at being somewhere she doesn't want to be, and wanting to go home. This is one of the things that gnaws away at me on top of the guilt. But I know I shouldn't feel guilty. People have told me I've done all that I could do and I should perhaps concentrate on other things now. She is where she needs to be and in good hands. The last few months have been exhausting but I feel I've done what I could and in her interests, but I still can't help feeling that awful guilt and sadness about how things have turned out for her. She doesn't deserve what she's been through.
Despite all the problems with memory and behaviour and everything else that dementia causes, she still knows who I am and how much I love her. I wonder though how long that might last.
No comments:
Post a Comment