Visiting A Loved One: Meme’s Story Part 11

Good morning, afternoon, evening, or whatever time you’re reading this. If you are just tuning in, I am writing about my paternal grandmother’s mental decline with dementia in order to raise awareness about the disease and its effect on the person and caregivers. You can find the other parts here.

It’s been about month since my last post. The battle with DHS and the Medicaid office rages on. Lately, my grandmother has been pretty settled and seems to be having some good days. I think that when her sun downing hits at the late nights and evenings, we’re just not around to see it.

My sister had her wisdom teeth taken out, so we missed about two weeks since our last visit. I wrote letters to her during that time, and she was so happy to have received them. (Remember if you’re writing to a loved one to include their room number on the envelope.) I find myself tearing up sometimes when I try to call her, so a written message seemed to be better. We did get to visit her this weekend and her smile perked up so bright. :)

I thought for this entry, I could go into detail (more like story form) about how visiting someone in the nursing home usually goes, and those with Alzheimer’s or Dementia.

A reminder that I’m still raising money for the Alzheimer’s Association! The 2022 Walk to End Alzheimer’s is on October 15, 2022 at the Arkansas State University Student Union lawn in Jonesboro, AR at 9:00am. (For those reading this that want to join us that are in the area…) My team link: https://act.alz.org/site/TR?fr_id=15384&pg=team&team_id=734570.

Registration link Here: https://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2022/AR-Arkansas?fr_id=15384&pg=entry.

And now the story goes….

My father, sister and I enter the facility, making sure we’re masked up. We grab some rubbing alcohol and hairspray Meme asked us to get. Dad puts out a cigarette in the ash tray, trying to calm his nerves for whatever we’re about to face. My sister’s jaw is in pain (from her tooth surgery), and I’m dealing with a queasy stomach. We didn’t feel like coming today until Meme called us that afternoon. “I want to see them,” she told my father.

We prepare ourselves as we enter the lobby of the nursing home. I feel a tightness in my chest, almost as if I’m holding my breath. We sign in through the kiosk stand as it takes our temperature. Entering the security code at the door, I noticed the buttons are hard to press and some of the paint is coming off the numbers. Dad opens the heavy door as it shuts behind us. The main lobby and dining area are silent. I wave and say “Good morning” to an elderly resident in a wheel chair. He nods and waves back. I look across to the dining area. A woman is sitting silently in a chair with a baby doll in her lap.

We turn the corner down the hallways. One of the things I hate about this nursing home is its hospital feel. The dark wooden floors and lack of light seem to display an air of sadness and mortality. The only sounds are the sounds of the televisions playing Family Feud in resident’s rooms and the talk of nurses asking residents for needs. The hallway has a musty odor I don’t like. Medicine and food carts litter the hallways. We must have entered the facility after lunch.

Finally, we reach my grandmother’s room. A labeled and printed sticker displays her name and her roommate, Evelyn. I enter her room slowly to see my grandmother staring at the ceiling. “Hello.” We say. My grandmother shouts “Hello! How are y’all?!” The depressed look on her face all but vanishes. I put her things down on her food cart. My dad adjusts her bed so that she can sit up. We wave to her room mate and ask Evelyn how she is. I pull my mask down slightly so my grandmother can kiss me on the lips. I wrap my arms around her and breathe her in. She still smells like strawberry lotion. “I love you,” I say weakly as she holds me tight. “I love you more” is her response as she rubs my back.

Kaitlyn and Dad go in for their hugs and kisses. Dad grabs her wheelchair and sits in it. Kaitlyn ops for a chair by the bed. I just sit on her bedside. My grandmother has lost quite a bit of weight as she doesn’t like the food the facility serves. (Who would? As my maternal grandfather used to say about the nursing home he entered with my maternal grandmother. “Ya’ll got any food that hasn’t been cooked in pump water?”) Her hair is tossed haphazardly to one side, something she would never allow if she was able.

As we help Evelyn search for NASCAR on the television, we are regaled with tales of my father as a young man. My grandmother literally called the dorm room one night, as my dad was out passed curfew. (In his defense, he was 24 years old at the time, but that didn’t matter to her.) Suddenly, my grandmother picks up her stuffed Yorkie Kaitlyn got for her.

“I think she’s cold, she’s been laying under the covers all day,” she says. I pick up the stuffed plushie and stand it right side up. I brush the hair out of “her” eyes, and notice that the dog’s mouth is wet and covered in some strange stains. “I wish I could get her to eat,” Meme says. “Maybe I should take her to the vet?”

We shrug it off and begin to talk normally about her home, home videos we watched the other day, and recipes I’d like to cook. My grandmother takes my arm lovingly and holds my hand. The visit seems to be going well. I laugh as my dad and her argue about her stories she tells. My dad explains some the details are a little mixed up.

As the hours tick by, we notice that my grandmother’s mental state is leaving us a little. “What did ya’ll do with my furniture and remodeling?

We look at each other bepuzzled. “What are you talking about?” my father asks incredulously.

“Someone told me ya’ll sold all my furniture.”

My dad lowers his mask so she can hear him. “Everything is exactly where you left it.” He explains.

I chime in. “The only thing that’s different is your kitchen floor, I have to redo the tiling.” (For anyone that doesn’t know, she picked a hole in her old tiled kitchen, I’m having to fix it which is a chore to say the least).

We try to ask her who is telling her this. But like most delusions, we’re never able to get a straight answer. The moment is again shrugged off.

“Well, you’ll have to get me some Halloween candy soon. For the children up here.”

My dad again lowers his mask. “What children? There’s not any children up here.”

“I see them, but they only come out at night.”

We simply nod our heads and try to avoid her gaze. She begins to fidget with her blouse and fingers.

My father looks at me as if signaling that he’s ready to leave. It’s hard on him, anyone seeing someone (especially your mother) become delusional like that. I give him a nod back.

“Well, ya’ll about ready to leave?” my father asks us.

“What are ya’ll talking about? You just got here.” is my grandmother’s reply.

We laugh a little, as we’ve actually been there about 2 hours and 30 minutes.

“Well, I’m so glad I got to see y’all. Two of you anyway.” (Her anger is directed at my sister Kylie, who finds it hard to visit her, given the state of things).

Again, we go in for hugs and kisses. “We think about you every day,” my sister says.

“I think about ya’ll too, all day and all night too.”

My father walks ahead of us as we leave her room. Kaitlyn and I wave at her and Evelyn and tell her we love her once again. We try and get as much a glimpse of her as we can. We wave until she disappears behind the doorway. I notice Kaitlyn’s eyes are welling with tears.

“You okay?” I always ask.

“Yeah,” She sighs loudly. “At least we made her day.”

And so, down the long hallway and security doors we go, removing our masks as we step outside.

That’s just a small sampling of what it’s like visiting a dementia patient on a good day. At least she did know that it was October. But, she still thinks that she’s been in the nursing home for a two years. (It’s been about 9 months). It’s always important that no matter how hard it is, it’s good to visit a loved one in the nursing home. I know that it can be hard, but sometimes like my grandmother, she looks forward to our visits all week. The nausea and pain my sister and I felt seemed to lift as soon as we saw her smile.

Part 12 can be found here.

I’m also raising money for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s Event held in Jonesboro, Arkansas on October 15th. Please consider donating to our team page. I’m also selling bracelets for $5.00 each, with the money going toward the Alzheimer’s Association. I’ve also got paintings, vases, and T-shirts. You can find my Etsy store here.

And for all those facing Alzheimer’s and other dementias, all my love!

Kelsey ❤