Woman to Woman: Dealing with Aging Parents
I wasn't going to write for this one, but considering that my grandmother (and therefore, my mother) is, yet again, in one of her snits, I decided to write.
My grandmother is close to 90 years old.
She's also a bitter and angry woman--and paranoid to boot. If her phone rings, and it's a wrong number, it's "them bastards" harrassing her. There is a short list of who she normally blames, and much to my amusement, George W. is on it. Somehow, in her 90-year-0ld brain, W. doesn't have enough to do. He's actually sitting in the White House, thinking how funny it is to crank call old women along the East coast.
My grandmother, needless to say, is starting into the well known phase of aging called "slipping."
She'll spend hours telling you about people who are long gone--and the stories are not even close to being factual. They're generally a mishmash of several persons and stories that run into each other and while seeming to be coherent and lucid, aren't. If you ask questions--even for clarification, it'll only piss her off worse. And the language she uses! Little old ladies aren't supposed to talk that way!
Other days, she is in a rage about things that either never happened, didn't happen to her, or that happened 50 years ago: hence the title about a loaf of bread being a nickel. She spent about 6 weeks, last time the minimum wage was raised in our state, ranting about how bread used to cost a nickel and that bastard--our governor, Ed--has been on the take and that's why groceries cost what the do these days. (Yes, folks, Ed was a baby way back in the day, but even when he was in diapers, he was working on his political agenda of stealing from Social Security and robbing old ladies of their meds.)
She also doesn't take her meds the way she should, and she ended up in the hospital and nursing home for a brief stint because of it. Of course, she will take ALL the meds the doc has prescribed her--even if he told her to stop taking one because he was changing it due to side effects or newly announced research of dire consequences. But then, it balances out, I suppose, because she refused to take things that may actually help her feel better or keep her eyesight.
She's still lucid enough, often enough, that forcibly placing her in managed care would be impossible--and, in all honesty, my mother can't afford it. My mother's sister is the one who has access to her money--what she keeps in the bank, anyway. (We have a sneaking suspicion that if we truly cleaned her apartment--dismantling it--we would probably find hundreds, if not thousands of dollars hidden in pockets, boxes, old calendars, etc.)
In our state, the person signing you into the home is the person who is responsible for anything you can't pay and that the government (through Medicare and other programs) won't. It's expensive. Minimal care in a warehouse--even one rated "good"--isn't my idea of where anyone should be, even if she's a cranky old crab.
It's a no-win situation. She won't co operate if she can help it; her paranoia, and single-minded drive to be non-reality based (I believe that she CHOSE this several years ago--it's not just dementia, it's willful defiance in the face of reality) and her anger at the things in her life that didn't turn out the way she wanted them to, while keeping her going, are also making it harder and harder for her to live in this world and life.
The worst is, I see my mother going this same route--albeit in a slightly more manageable way (and bread will be a dollar by then).
Regardless of how hard the decision is, it takes a certain amount of self-awareness on the care-giver's part to know when too much is enough.
I don't look forward to my mother needing to make this decision regarding her mother--I'm sure it will be heart-wrenching and difficult. But in all honesty, the old woman is a cranky, irate, bitter thing who will certainly make it as traumatic for everyone else (and I do mean every one she comes into contact with) as it is for her. I also know that we will probably someday need to make this decision regarding my mother, and while I'm sure my brother and sister will do what they can, but I'm not looking forward to it.
I know that I do not have the soul-sacrificing gene that my mother has--my tolerance levels are lower. While my sense of humor and of the ridiculous are highly developed, I don't see me putting up the unexpected rampages and manipulative games my mother tolerates from her mother. I do not have the sense of duty that seems to require being put through hell every year or so with medical emergencies that could be avoided; I do not tolerate others' irrational rages being directed at me; I do not think that my blood pressure and stress levels should be elevated because someone else, who is for all intents and purposes in their right mind, has decided that whatever has upset her--today or 20 years ago--is my fault.
I doubt that my grandmother will go quietly, and I suspect that my mother won't either. It's why I hope and pray that I go up in a ball of spontaneous combustion well before the time comes for me. I simply don't have the patience or the nerve for it otherwise.
I wasn't going to write for this one, but considering that my grandmother (and therefore, my mother) is, yet again, in one of her snits, I decided to write.
My grandmother is close to 90 years old.
She's also a bitter and angry woman--and paranoid to boot. If her phone rings, and it's a wrong number, it's "them bastards" harrassing her. There is a short list of who she normally blames, and much to my amusement, George W. is on it. Somehow, in her 90-year-0ld brain, W. doesn't have enough to do. He's actually sitting in the White House, thinking how funny it is to crank call old women along the East coast.
My grandmother, needless to say, is starting into the well known phase of aging called "slipping."
She'll spend hours telling you about people who are long gone--and the stories are not even close to being factual. They're generally a mishmash of several persons and stories that run into each other and while seeming to be coherent and lucid, aren't. If you ask questions--even for clarification, it'll only piss her off worse. And the language she uses! Little old ladies aren't supposed to talk that way!
Other days, she is in a rage about things that either never happened, didn't happen to her, or that happened 50 years ago: hence the title about a loaf of bread being a nickel. She spent about 6 weeks, last time the minimum wage was raised in our state, ranting about how bread used to cost a nickel and that bastard--our governor, Ed--has been on the take and that's why groceries cost what the do these days. (Yes, folks, Ed was a baby way back in the day, but even when he was in diapers, he was working on his political agenda of stealing from Social Security and robbing old ladies of their meds.)
She also doesn't take her meds the way she should, and she ended up in the hospital and nursing home for a brief stint because of it. Of course, she will take ALL the meds the doc has prescribed her--even if he told her to stop taking one because he was changing it due to side effects or newly announced research of dire consequences. But then, it balances out, I suppose, because she refused to take things that may actually help her feel better or keep her eyesight.
She's still lucid enough, often enough, that forcibly placing her in managed care would be impossible--and, in all honesty, my mother can't afford it. My mother's sister is the one who has access to her money--what she keeps in the bank, anyway. (We have a sneaking suspicion that if we truly cleaned her apartment--dismantling it--we would probably find hundreds, if not thousands of dollars hidden in pockets, boxes, old calendars, etc.)
In our state, the person signing you into the home is the person who is responsible for anything you can't pay and that the government (through Medicare and other programs) won't. It's expensive. Minimal care in a warehouse--even one rated "good"--isn't my idea of where anyone should be, even if she's a cranky old crab.
It's a no-win situation. She won't co operate if she can help it; her paranoia, and single-minded drive to be non-reality based (I believe that she CHOSE this several years ago--it's not just dementia, it's willful defiance in the face of reality) and her anger at the things in her life that didn't turn out the way she wanted them to, while keeping her going, are also making it harder and harder for her to live in this world and life.
The worst is, I see my mother going this same route--albeit in a slightly more manageable way (and bread will be a dollar by then).
Regardless of how hard the decision is, it takes a certain amount of self-awareness on the care-giver's part to know when too much is enough.
I don't look forward to my mother needing to make this decision regarding her mother--I'm sure it will be heart-wrenching and difficult. But in all honesty, the old woman is a cranky, irate, bitter thing who will certainly make it as traumatic for everyone else (and I do mean every one she comes into contact with) as it is for her. I also know that we will probably someday need to make this decision regarding my mother, and while I'm sure my brother and sister will do what they can, but I'm not looking forward to it.
I know that I do not have the soul-sacrificing gene that my mother has--my tolerance levels are lower. While my sense of humor and of the ridiculous are highly developed, I don't see me putting up the unexpected rampages and manipulative games my mother tolerates from her mother. I do not have the sense of duty that seems to require being put through hell every year or so with medical emergencies that could be avoided; I do not tolerate others' irrational rages being directed at me; I do not think that my blood pressure and stress levels should be elevated because someone else, who is for all intents and purposes in their right mind, has decided that whatever has upset her--today or 20 years ago--is my fault.
I doubt that my grandmother will go quietly, and I suspect that my mother won't either. It's why I hope and pray that I go up in a ball of spontaneous combustion well before the time comes for me. I simply don't have the patience or the nerve for it otherwise.
6 comments:
Sounds very frustrating. I'm so sorry. Thank you for your thoughts.
That's certainly a difficult situation. I had a grandmother like that, but I didn't have to be around her in her final years. Thank you for being honest and open on the subject.
Oh My, Mumple, for such a serious subject, you had me snorting with laughter. Next time I see Dubya on TV, I'll totally be picturing him on the phone saying, "Hello, is Seymour Butts there?"
Leave it to you to keep your sense of humor in the face of life's difficulties.
Oh my...is your grandmother related to my grandpa? He says before he ever leaves the house, "If the president calls, tell him...."
I know this is a serious topic, but I so love your writing voice! (I laughed too.)
Hugs to you & your grandma!
Loving difficult people well is a challenge wether they are 9 or 90 or any age inbetween.
Knowing when to keep trying and when to pull back is a challenge with no clear answers.
I had to laugh at your notion of spontaneous combustion...I once did a book report for school on the evidence pro and con for spontaneous human combustion. Maybe it really is people burning up in pure orneryness?
It is hard to deal with difficult people in difficult situations such as our topic this week. Thanks for sharing your story and for the little dose of humor.
Thank you for sharing your perspective with us.
Angela
Post a Comment