A Slow Death

Another laundry run, this time without the chatty visit. I saw mom, but she was in a wheelchair being pushed by an aide who explained that she had been very tired and perhaps had a cold. She then outlined for me what she'd eaten (a can of Ensure and some fruit) and explained that mom was congested here (patting her upper chest). Mom was surprised to see me, and obviously too tired to react much. I patted her arm and told her to have a good rest, and that I would see her soon. She seemed relieved and nodded her head. I escaped with the dirty clothes.

I had a brief chat with Fred, Anna's husband. He lives in another building for independent seniors, and visits Anna in mom's dementia wing (right next to mom's apt.). Anna is the one who wanders into mom's room and looks at things, sometimes wandering off with them, so they have to keep rooms locked. Fred said it's hard to watch "a slow death", and often feels he should be doing more for her. "But there is nothing to do about this," he admitted. We agreed the best path is to take care of ourselves as best we can.

Mom has COPD, which is the only health problem she has at age 91 aside from stage 6 dementia and needing a mild daily thyroid boost. She has all her own teeth, a good heart, and a respiratory challenge that limits her energy and succumbs to germs easily. I left hoping she wouldn't suffer with the exhaustion and distress she usually has when she's sick - either recover or croak quickly. But there's been nothing quick about this whole process. Three years since the Alzheimer's diagnosis, but who's counting?