Tag Archives: love

Telling Lauren about grandma’s diagnosis

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Lauren, now age 16, has been in the loop about my mom’s diagnosis since we received it. I thought she understood…

A few weeks ago, when my mom was staying at our house, B and I went to a concert that we had tickets for since December. Lauren remained home with mom. I asked Lauren to watch a movie with my mom while we were gone. I told mom they would watch a movie together. Mom was looking forward to it.

The next day, we asked Lauren what movie they watched. They didn’t watch a movie. Instead, Lauren played on her phone, and mom napped on the couch before going to bed.

I stewed over that all day.

I picked up Lauren from work the night after the concert, and I said, “Why didn’t you watch a movie last night? I really wanted you and grandma to have some time together.”

“She wouldn’t say what she wanted to watch. She kept dozing off,” Lauren replied.

I turned to her in the parking lot.

“Lauren, decisions are really hard for her now. You should have just put something on. Anything. I really wanted you two to have some good memories before things get worse. You realize things are going to get bad, right?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked horrified.

“She’s not going to get better,” I said.

Lauren started to cry.

“Do you know what dementia is?” I asked.

“I thought I did. But I thought she was going to get better,” she said.

Full tears from both of us at this point.

I explained the neurologist said she’s like a teenager now. She will continue to regress in age until she has no control over bodily functions or speech.

“She’s not going to forget us, isn’t she? I don’t want her to forget me,” Lauren said, full blown sobbing.

“She may not remember our names, but we will remember,” I said through tears.

“How long does she have?”

“I don’t know. Could be years, could be less, could be a little more.”

“I just want her to come to my high school graduation,” she said.

“If she can, she will be there.”

We held each other in the parking lot for a few minutes, then I drove us home.

Lauren and my mom have always been close. Mom moved in with us right after my dad died, and mom became Lauren’s caregiver while I worked. Mom moved with us to Wisconsin, and she continued that role – and while I was with my previous employer, mom was with Ethan and Lauren more than they were with me. Even after mom moved to her own condo, she picked up Lauren every day from school and helped her with homework. Mom was a constant as I went through cancer. Mom is Lauren’s godmother (LONG story). The two are the best buddies, and it’s awesome to see them cuddle up with each other or hold each other’s hands.

And when the time comes, Lauren’s grief will destroy me (much like Ethan’s grief when my dad died – oh, and the WAIL he let out during my dad’s funeral – broke my heart).

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As I write this, I’m in full-blown tears, and snot is flowing. (EDIT: reading it again before posting caused another waterfall.

Through Mike’s death and my cancer (and now my mom’s diagnosis), the one constant that made me ugly cry was the effect on my kids.

Update and diagnosis: a new chapter

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Hi.

Resurrecting this part of the interwebs to deal with the latest life challenge – caregiving.

Let’s start at the beginning, or when we realized there was an issue.

Last summer, mom “lost” two or three days. She has no idea where she was or what she was doing. She drove, that much she was aware, and she hit something as evidenced by a long scratch down the side of the GMC Acadia.

It was weird, but I didn’t think too much of it.

In September, while I was in Indiana at my alma mater, B received a call from my mom. “I’ve been discharged. Come get me,” she said.

“Joy? Where are you?” he asked.

“I called an ambulance to take me to the ER, and now they’re letting me go so I need a ride home,” mom said.

B had to leave work (late night event) after her call; he picked her up and drove her home. That’s when we became aware of the condition of her home.

I hadn’t been in her house in months. No reason to.

Dishes hadn’t been done in some time. Laundry was stacked in her room. Piles of opened and unopened mail around the living room. There was a path from the front door to the kitchen. It was bad. Jack and Lauren went over the next day to clean; I met them there.

Mom called the ambulance because of a fall. She had been falling a lot. So much that I really didn’t even react when she told me about her latest fall.

After the “lost days” incident, she gave me her keys and decided she shouldn’t drive any more. I took her to all doctors’ appointments and physical therapy. It was basically twice a week from September to the holidays.

The incident also forced the discovery of mold in her basement. The smell was overwhelming, and while there wasn’t evidence of water, there was some mold on the ceiling tiles, and it was obvious there were issues. I pulled a bookshelf away from the wall, and the carpet underneath was black. When it started and how long it had been going on, we’ll not know.

We started the mold mitigation process in December, and she stayed with us while treatments were unleashed on the house to kill any spores.

Mom also stayed with us at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Her demeanor was strange. She wasn’t herself.

These were not good visits. She didn’t leave the room (we had her staying in my office since it’s on the first floor, across from a bathroom). She didn’t really interact with us. She came out for meals, said only a few words, and that was it.

At Christmas, I lost it. I got so frustrated with her “giving up” attitude that I left. Got in the car and drove off. Then I turned around (about one block from home). I came back because I wasn’t just going to walk away. I was going to confront this.

I told her that she was giving up, that I didn’t know if it was extreme depression or what, but it wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t her.

She told me I didn’t listen well, and I was mean. Fair.

B took her home.

Mom and I didn’t talk for a few weeks. When she was leaving, she said she’d have a neighbor take her to the doctor and to run errands for her. My aunt (mom’s sister) called me a few weeks after the incident. My aunt asked what happened, and I told her. She listened and said I needed to do what was right for me and that I needed to protect my own health and family. She told mom to apologize to me and to knock it off.

Mom and I started talking again.

In January, we got the diagnosis that changed everything. Her neurologist referred her to a neuropsychologist. I took her to both of the appointments. When the neuropsych called me back to review the results of her hours long test, I knew things were bad.

He showed me the results – a couple of dot-to-dots (follow the numbers in order), draw this image over here, remember these words. The things I could see (dot-to-dot, image drawing) were disturbingly incorrect. He diagnosed her with mild dementia. Fuck.

The diagnosis was horrible to hear, but it was actually good news. I changed my approach immediately. She couldn’t help how she was acting. I couldn’t confront her anymore. I needed to be gentle, understanding, helpful. I needed to start researching.