Category Archives: Dementiaville

mother is losing her memory.

#dementiaville 14. An Easter Visit

#Dementiaville 14 Some relatives ponder whether it is painful for a loved one to have dementia. Are those afflicted ‘content’ in their confusion and loss of memory, since they don’t remember things anyhow? Last week I saw a show where … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_13

The nurse has ordered mom pressure stockings, as her ankles have swollen (she sleeps sitting up in the tv lounge, instead of in her bed). I don’t think she realizes yet where she is, and which room is hers. When … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_12

The Move. Journaling lost its appeal for the duration of mom’s move to ‘assisted living’ with dementia care. On Jan. 7, in what can only be characterized as bald deceit, a male nurse from the Residence picked up mom and … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_11

Is it dream or imagination? Here I am, walking through a cavern filled with towers of disintegrating black moss stretched upward into dark infinity. Or are they columns of cobwebs? It is mom’s brain I am dwelling in, and nothing … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_10

Mom stands at 5’ and weighs around 110 pounds. Her back has rounded and, when she walks nowadays, she embodies the swaggering primate propelled by arms that in old age have grown long for her body.  She used to be … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_9

My sister has begun to think Mom is capable of hurting someone. It is true she seems to like sharp objects. Before we got the care giver, people in her building reported that she had been walking around outside with … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_8

A live-in caregiver (Annie) has arrived, and none too soon. On the morning (two weeks ago) when I returned to Wisconsin to prepare for Annie, Mom had made coffee out of powdered cloves, and had watered her plastic flowers. As … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_7

I stuck mom’s Aracept in a small dish of cut canned peaches last night, and she didn’t notice. Tonight, it went into a prune Danish. If I give it to her the regular straight-up way, she will ask for water, … Continue reading

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Dementiaville_6

Calling mom can feel like walking barefoot on a morning’s first cold snow. Silent, deliberate, a hint of the treacherous afoot, and then, with each ring the ache of brain freeze rushes in. Monday, Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday . . . … Continue reading

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Dementiaville-5

Grrrr, anger. It makes you lucid. Mom sits on the couch drifting downriver in her head, appearing oblivious to the streaming conversation taking place between me and her friend R. It is midwest Labor Day scorching, so I get up … Continue reading

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