We woke up Monday morning to a beautiful sunny day-- perfect moving weather. My sister Anne, Tom and I came up with a strategy to make the move as smooth for Nana as possible. I arrived at 8am and brought Nana to church, while Anne and Tom went to the apartment and got ready for the movers.
At church, one of the members asked me when Nana was moving. I told them that she was moving today, after breakfast. "Does she know?" Yes, I said, we talked about it earlier in the morning, and she was looking forward to the move.
At the end of Mass, the priest spoke. "Today is our last day with our friend, Jane Papineau, and I have said Mass for you. We will all miss your smile and your bright spirit, and we will pray for you always." Nana was very touched, and she received many hugs as we left the chapel. Breakfast followed, and I received a text on my phone stating "All's clear. The movers have left the apartment, and we are on our way."
I can't express how lucky we are when it comes to moving Nana. Since she moved so often with my father, a new home is met with excitement, not fear or sadness. "It's a chance to make new friends" was always her mantra, and this has not changed.
"So, where am I going?"
" You are moving to a place that specializes in helping people with Alzheimers. Everyone there has Alzheimers, just like you, and the people there work with Boston University's Alzheimers Research center. You live in a dorm-like setting. You will have your own bedroom, but will share a common area and a bathroom with another resident."
"Oh, that sounds wonderful. I could definitely use the help to get this brain working!"
We went to Nana's apartment, and she grabbed a stuffed animal and two decorative pillows from her second bedroom, saying that she would definitely need them in her new home. We said goodbye to the many wonderful workers at Southgate, and said goodbye to a few residents who were in the hallway. We tried to leave as quietly as possible, since I did not want to upset residents who would be very uncomfortable with the change.
We arrived in Hopkinton at 11:30. Tom greeted us at the door, and Anne waited upstairs near her apartment. As we entered the unit, residents were sitting down for lunch. Nana sat next to her new roommate, as we removed her jacket and hung it in her room. We gave her a hug, and we headed out to pick up a few things she needed for her first week in her new home.
We returned two hours later, and I was very anxious about how Nana was doing. We walked onto the unit, and we could see her doing exercises with the rest of the residents. She was smiling, and she didn't notice us in the hall. We moved into her room, and Tom hung some of her pictures and we marked the shower supplies that we brought back with us. We could hear singing coming from the common area, Nana's voice rising above the others during "My Wild Irish Rose". We finished our work, and then we debated whether we should even say goodbye to her. Anne and I wanted to say goodbye, so as we stepped out the door, we looked down the hall. Nana was taking a catnap in her chair, and she looked very comfortable. We decided not to interrupt her sleep.
My heart knows that this is the right place for Nana. As Anne said this morning, "It's the circle of life." We know that she will be happier here, and she looks very relaxed and happy. But I still mourn the Nana that would have been, if this awful disease had not robbed her of her memory and independence.
And I thank God for not taking away her sweetness, wit, and ability to move forward and accept her illness with grace.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Hospital Visit #3
Change is hard. Imagine people coming up to you and telling you how wonderful you are and how much they are going to miss you. Now, imagine that you don't know what they are talking about. You don't know where you are going. Or are they leaving you? Are you dying? Despite many conversations, Nana is unable to digest the fact that she is moving. (Even though she had asked to move to an Alzheimers facility.) So, Nana showed her anxiety in her usual way. She had chest pain and dizziness, and this time, her dizziness just got worse and worse.
I made it to the emergency room about 45 minutes after Nana was brought in by ambulance. She was hooked up to heart monitors and was wearing oxygen. She gave me a huge smile and thanked me for coming. She had already charmed most of the emergency staff; they had done an EKG and taken blood to check for abnormalities. Her vital signs were marching across the monitors, and they were more stable than mine, I'm sure. We sat and waited for the doctors to decide about her needs.
Bells ringing, people moving quickly by the doorway. Voices calling, people retching-- hospitals are a den of activity. And when one has dementia, this is all very confusing. The doctors came in, and they asked Nana many questions. They asked her who I was. She turned, smiled and said, "Go ahead, you can tell them." I said that my name was Nancy, and Nana added, "And I am so glad that I married her." Hmmm. I laughed.
After the medical team left, Nana continued to try to make sense of her environment and her dizziness. She tried to stand up and leave the room, convinced that she was at a party. "I think I better go greet my guests."
I assured her that she was not at a party, but at the emergency room. "Ohhh... Do I do this a lot?" I said no, she hasn't been in the hospital in over 6 months.
"I'm sorry for doing this." I assured her that she hadn't done anything wrong.
"Do I run with a fast crowd?" Um, no, you have wonderful friends.
It suddenly occurred to me that she thought she was in the ER because she had become drunk. "I guess my parents called the police and had me sent to the hospital".... I told her that she wasn't dizzy because she was drunk-- she did not have anything to drink today. "Oh, thank goodness!"
Nana's disequilibrium continued until we got her to a hospital room for observation overnite. Once in her hospital bed, she hopped out of bed without a complaint of dizziness. The nurses showed her how to call them if she needed to get out of bed. She thanked them for the lesson, and dazzled them with a big smile. As I walked out of the room, I warned the nurse that she should ask for a 1:1 sitter for Nana overnite. "Oh, she is lovely. She will be ok."
When I returned to the hospital the next morning, she had been removed from her room. I found her in a geriatric recliner, sitting next to a 1:1 aide. She was smiling, and chatting with everyone at the desk. I received a big smile and a wave.
As the morning wore on, she became more and more confused. Yes, I became that obnoxious family member who thinks she knows more than the medical staff (sorry, Memorial Hospital.) But the nurse had said that we could leave in 20 minutes, when she would have time to remove her IV and her telemetry monitors. Thirty minutes went by, and Nana was getting worse and worse, not understanding how to dress herself or how to eat, or swallow her pills. I removed her telemetry monitors and unhooked her IV. I dressed her, and I ran downstairs and got a wheelchair for discharge. I went to the nurse's station and waited for the discharge paperwork. The nurse removed the saline lock from Nana's arm and actually thanked me for helping with the discharge (thank goodness.) We headed home, and when we reached her apartment, she was back to her normal level of confusion.
Needless to say, I am a bit nervous about her move to the Alzheimers facility tomorrow. But I am confident that the new staff has had a lot of experience soothing new residents. Either way, I will sleep with my cell phone next to my pillow, just in case.
I made it to the emergency room about 45 minutes after Nana was brought in by ambulance. She was hooked up to heart monitors and was wearing oxygen. She gave me a huge smile and thanked me for coming. She had already charmed most of the emergency staff; they had done an EKG and taken blood to check for abnormalities. Her vital signs were marching across the monitors, and they were more stable than mine, I'm sure. We sat and waited for the doctors to decide about her needs.
Bells ringing, people moving quickly by the doorway. Voices calling, people retching-- hospitals are a den of activity. And when one has dementia, this is all very confusing. The doctors came in, and they asked Nana many questions. They asked her who I was. She turned, smiled and said, "Go ahead, you can tell them." I said that my name was Nancy, and Nana added, "And I am so glad that I married her." Hmmm. I laughed.
After the medical team left, Nana continued to try to make sense of her environment and her dizziness. She tried to stand up and leave the room, convinced that she was at a party. "I think I better go greet my guests."
I assured her that she was not at a party, but at the emergency room. "Ohhh... Do I do this a lot?" I said no, she hasn't been in the hospital in over 6 months.
"I'm sorry for doing this." I assured her that she hadn't done anything wrong.
"Do I run with a fast crowd?" Um, no, you have wonderful friends.
It suddenly occurred to me that she thought she was in the ER because she had become drunk. "I guess my parents called the police and had me sent to the hospital".... I told her that she wasn't dizzy because she was drunk-- she did not have anything to drink today. "Oh, thank goodness!"
Nana's disequilibrium continued until we got her to a hospital room for observation overnite. Once in her hospital bed, she hopped out of bed without a complaint of dizziness. The nurses showed her how to call them if she needed to get out of bed. She thanked them for the lesson, and dazzled them with a big smile. As I walked out of the room, I warned the nurse that she should ask for a 1:1 sitter for Nana overnite. "Oh, she is lovely. She will be ok."
When I returned to the hospital the next morning, she had been removed from her room. I found her in a geriatric recliner, sitting next to a 1:1 aide. She was smiling, and chatting with everyone at the desk. I received a big smile and a wave.
As the morning wore on, she became more and more confused. Yes, I became that obnoxious family member who thinks she knows more than the medical staff (sorry, Memorial Hospital.) But the nurse had said that we could leave in 20 minutes, when she would have time to remove her IV and her telemetry monitors. Thirty minutes went by, and Nana was getting worse and worse, not understanding how to dress herself or how to eat, or swallow her pills. I removed her telemetry monitors and unhooked her IV. I dressed her, and I ran downstairs and got a wheelchair for discharge. I went to the nurse's station and waited for the discharge paperwork. The nurse removed the saline lock from Nana's arm and actually thanked me for helping with the discharge (thank goodness.) We headed home, and when we reached her apartment, she was back to her normal level of confusion.
Needless to say, I am a bit nervous about her move to the Alzheimers facility tomorrow. But I am confident that the new staff has had a lot of experience soothing new residents. Either way, I will sleep with my cell phone next to my pillow, just in case.
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