We had a really fun week a short while ago when mom had a reaction to a supplemental antidepressant that was prescribed for her. She started seeing whole groups of people who weren't there. A dozen middle-aged women and teenagers that chatted amongst themselves and kept wandering in and out. Three extra-tall people, two men and one woman, and one of the men had a triangle for a head. Two little mechanical men that hung out on either side of her walker. Two african women, one of which was sleeping in the bed in the studio. And she heard disembodied arguments, too! The worst of it is over now, but I had really hoped that once the medication had cleared her system that it would disappear completely. But no, she still has the occasional hallucination that there's a third cat in the house, or an occasional not-real person around.
The most problematic delusion lately was that the doll club ladies entrusted the club dues check to her (NOT!) and that it was A) on her desk somewhere, entailing a shuffling and un-sorting of the piles of crap thereon, B) it must have fallen behind her bookcase, so I should empty and move the heavy thing to find said check, or C) it's in her purse somewhere, so she must empty the contents of her purse all over the bed and floor right before bedtime and then forget what she was looking for. That one took three days to clear up, until the ladies were over for a sewing day and I was able to get them to tell mom that it didn't happen.
Her ability to know what's important is completely skewed. She will bellow like a wounded rhinoceros when she wants some dessert, but neglects to mention that she spilled a half a can of soda on the floor. Instead, she wandered around the house for 20 minutes to get a cookie before returning to her room and mumble mentioning that there's a puddle on the floor. (They beat it into our heads at caregiver training that spills are a huge fall hazard that need to be cleaned up immediately, and I've explained that to mom dozens of times.)
I also have to remind her nearly every day of the utter basics of walker safety. She needs to pay attention to where she's walking, instead of staring off to the side at something. She needs to have her hands empty and on the handles when using her walker, not full of cookies or leaning on the brake levers. Those brake levers lock with just a light pressure, and she really doesn't need to mash them with her full body weight repeatedly every time she goes to lock them. Walk forward around the room rather than backing up, because once she gets started going backwards, she can't stop. And for Gawd's sake, PLEASE use those brakes when you're standing still reaching for something, leaving only one hand on the walker. Her favorite imperilment trick is to stop with her walker way too far away from her destination, then walk around and away from said walker. You'd think after five years of using a walker that this stuff would be automatic...
Oy. She would be safer in her power chair, but the walls and furniture would pay a heavy price. Plus, she needs to keep walking as long as possible. Either way, I'm a wreck every time she decides to move around. Bill mentions nearly once a month that she should be in a nursing home. I don't know how much longer I can handle this myself, especially with the new psychological problems. But I know that a facility couldn't give her the tailored assistance she needs for best quality of.
Truly, there are days when she does just fine with only minimal assistance. But those days are getting fewer and farther between all the time. I guess all I can do is continue on and wait for the next crisis to come along, and do whatever's best from there.
- Current Mood:
distressed
