Showing posts with label independence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label independence. Show all posts

Friday, August 14, 2009

Notable quotes on Dementia

In my copy of "The 36-Hour Day" I read about ‘problems with independent living’ and how different families cope. One recurring issue is an older person’s unwillingness to surrender their financial responsibilities when they become overwhelmed. The book quotes many examples. After a series of examples that make perfect sense the last one is described by the authors as ‘extreme.’ This is the example:-

‘Mrs. H…. is fiercely independent about money, so Mr. H gave her a purse with some change in it. He put her name and address in it in case she lost her purse. She insisted on paying her hairdresser by check long after she could not responsibly manage a checkbook. So Mr. H gave her some checks stamped VOID by the bank. Each week she gives one to the hairdresser. Mr. Hutchinson privately arranged with the hairdresser that these would be accepted and that he would pay the bills.’

Well done Mr. H! Now to me, from my perspective, this doesn’t seem in the least bit extreme. It’s a great idea, an accommodation, but it’s not in the least bit extreme. I take great comfort from this tale because it tells me that I am more than well enough equipped to deal with whatever lies ahead of us. I am so used to jumping through hoops, over hoops and around hoops.

Sadly, this also means that I am used to failure. The first attempt doesn’t work, so we try something else and so on, time and again until we find a good fit. I have an example of my own.

You see last year we had this "problem," what we American’s call an ‘issue.’ The issue was Nonna’s independence. I understood how frustrating it was for her to be carless, especially in America. Nonna has always been a walker so instead of being cooped up in the house she naturally decided to take a stroll. Quite often it is difficult to remember details when you’re on holiday such as your hotel room number or perhaps the name of the hotel when they all look so alike, so it was understandable that Nonna had difficulty with this too.

It was a worrisome time.

Other families might be able to allow a grandchild to accompany their Nonna but that wasn’t an option for us. Although our house has more locks and chains than the average home this did not deter Nonna. I’m sure there are many valid reasons for restricting someone’s freedom for their own safety but I was not happy with the idea of imposing such limits on my mother in law. I was not in a position to shadow her movements once she was outside the house as I had other responsibilities, not necessarily more important but certainly more immediate.

The crunch time came when a kindly neighbour returned a thoroughly disorientated Nonna to our front door, as she had found herself completely lost only a few blocks away from home.

We had already printed off the equivalent of a business card with appropriate details for her hand bag. Often she left without her hand bag. Then we tried printing off a six block map of the immediate vicinity, in extra large print, three copies, laminated, but it suffered from the same inherent problem, a map is of no use if it resides in your bedroom when you most need it.

Hence this year, this summer, these issues have been on my mind, worries. What to do? How to help? How to keep her safe? How to engineer freedom and independence? I’d guess that you too are racking your brain to come up with ideas because we all want what is best for Nonna? I feel people’s sympathy and good wishes, so I know that you’ll be as sad as me to know that this year it is no longer a problem, a non-issue. Nonna no longer ventures out of the confines of the garden, so maybe not a non-issue but a different issue entirely.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Regrette beaucoup – a stitch in time



My childless day is interrupted by the presence of Nonna and Thatcher, the dog. I find it difficult to be productive with their added responsibility, ever present. The sewing machine seems like a bad idea, as Thatcher is at the chewing stage of puppy-hood and Nonna is at the helping stage of any project that is allowed to see the light of day. Whilst I’m tempted to hide from them both and steal half an hour in the garage to use the pottery wheel, I know that the step may prove hazardous to my followers and that the interior of the garage has yet to be puppy-proofed.

Instead I opt for mass food production in the kitchen where well wishers and scavengers are expected, although which is which, is debatable. Nonna and Thatcher graze and nibble collectively. Food scraps and dogs could be a slippery slope, but for the time being they are both content. I suspect that there is some un-written rule that permits grandparents to take liberties with household pets as well as their grandchildren. We trot through her traditional enquiries:-
“Where he is?”
“Work.”
“Where dey are?”
“School.”
“Where are dah cats?”
“Hiding.”
“Wot day it is?”
“The 6th Tuesday, January and now we’re in 2009.”
“We ave had New Year den?”
“Yes.”
“Did we ave fun?”
“Lots of fun. You had a little nap but we were all awake for the first time ever, all together.”
“Oh……dat’s alright den.”
We reach a natural pause, it’s the pause we have before we cycle through them all again. I grit my teeth in anticipation and attack the potatoes. The evidence of her restless night lies in the overflowing coffee dregs.
“So……..Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“You know………..I tink I go for a walk.”
“Really? Which way do you want to go?”
“Just up dah road………to dah shops and back.”
“Great idea.” I know that my agreement is far too enthusiastic but I also know that it will take about half an hour before she’s ready to go. There is an even chance that by the time she is ready to go that she’ll have forgotten that she planned to go anywhere. Either way this provides enough time to finish off preparing dinner and be ready as a companion, as well as walk Thatcher.

When she appears in the kitchen with one glove, I kick off my slippers, dash to retrieve the rest of her belongings and bellow over my shoulder, “hang on a minute, I’ll come with you.” I return with all her mislaid items to hand to her, including the little address card with all our pertinent details. As she takes her things she flutters, “no………I go on my own………you get on with your sewings and tings.”

I am immediately riddled with guilt, that she has read my mind, rebuffed. I try to think of what to say, something that isn’t condescending, something reassuring and genuine. “It’s o.k. I was going to walk Thatcher anyway, we can go together.”
“No, no, no…..I go on my own. Bye bye den.” She turns on her heel to leave, pauses and then heads off in the other direction to take the front door route. I rub my palms on my trousers. She’s an adult. At home she walks for miles on the beach, alone. How tiresome to have no independence. As the door clicks shut I glare at the sewing machine, my secret undoing. My mind is too muddled to sew, so instead I tidy Nonna’s room, which bears a strong resemblance to that of a teenager.

Only a few minutes later I hear the door click and dash to see what is amiss. Nonna rests on the door jam clutching her gloves. “Are you o.k.?”
“Yes……..I am too tired to walk today.”
“?”
“I am going to sit down.” She steps unsteadily towards the table and plops into a chair to pat the sewing machine lightly, repeatedly, rhythmically. “I’ll get you a coffee.” I watch her out of the corner of my eye, from the kitchen, count the breaths of asthma. I put a small biscuit on the saucer of the diabetic. Her hand moves to the plush toy on the table, “wot’s dis ting den?”
“Webkinz,” I bellow.
I return to the table to join her. An espresso cup for her, a vat for me. I loathe that downcast look of defeat.
“I think I’ll get on with this sewing pattern……..I don’t suppose you’re up to tackling the Webkinz for me?”
“Wot?”
“I hate hand sewing.”
“Wot?”
“The Webkinz……he’s sprung a leak. The seams bust on his tummy and I hate mending.” I push the bowl of threads towards her. She chuckles as her fingers run over the spools, “you’re not fooling me Maddy.”
“?”
“It was a very small Biscotti, probably worth six or seven stitches.”