A Good Enough Daughter
As a professional in the field of aging, Sara had seen it all—until her own mother broke her hip at the age of 88 and became profoundly confused, unable to live in her own home. Join Sara on her journey through the strangeness that is dementia while trying to make sense of it all and finding humor in the details. [Editor's note: Sara no longer contributes to Silver Planet, but we have made her archived blog entries available as a service to our readers.]
Telling My Brothers About Mom’s Dementia-Related Behavior
We’re all in this together
Those of you who have cared for your old and frail family members know that each day brings new challenges, issues, and questions. Throw in dementia as a factor and the caregiving experience can get downright bizarre at times.
My 91-year-old mother measures 4 feet 10 inches tall and weighs about 98 pounds. She has always been friendly, helpful, and kind. She’s a retired Salvation Army social worker. She never swore, and she certainly never hit anyone. That all changed with the onset of dementia.
I visited my mother at her home at Gaffney House and ran into Ashu, one of my favorite employees. Ashu, who’s studying to become a nurse, is a very professional guy, soft-spoken, and well dressed. I noticed he had a split lip, so I asked him what happened. Shyly, he replied, “Well, Reva took a swing at me.”
The vision of my dear mother hitting her kind caregiver really took me aback. I knew she occasionally got agitated, but I did not know she was violent. I saw shades of her aggressive behavior recently when she was in a nursing home for seven days while receiving an IV antibiotic. She was really on a rampage, yelling at staff and insulting everyone who tried to help her. It was difficult to watch my mother act abusively toward others, in ways that were totally out of character. But I understood: Dementia, a strange environment, and strange caregivers would almost always produce agitation.
I never said anything to either of my brothers about our mom’s dementia-related behavior. I figured that sharing the specifics wouldn’t do much good and that it would present irresolvable (for them) difficulties. But last week, when my brother David called, I mentioned the split lip.
He listened carefully and then asked a few good questions about mom’s deteriorating behavior. Eventually, I asked him if he wanted to know the details of mom’s cognitive decline. To my surprise, he did. He said that he wanted to know what is happening and to understand the situation as it is.
“I’m a typical caregiver,” I thought to myself, taking on all the responsibility and thinking that the rest of the family must be shielded from the truth. Thanks, David, for reminding me that we’re all in this together.
By Sara Myers
The Good Enough Daughter Blog
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