Comments on: Kim’s Mom http://just-raven.com/kims-mom/ Wed, 07 Jan 2009 08:09:00 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.5 By: Raven http://just-raven.com/kims-mom/#comment-143 Raven Fri, 29 Sep 2006 23:37:06 +0000 http://just-raven.com/kims-mom/#comment-143 Some people have the fast form of AD- they are lucky, I hate to say. Others have it for 20 yrs. The confusion and cross generational talk can be very upsetting for families. One thing that is SO hard to deal with is when families don't realize how far advanced the disease has gotten. People with this disease learn early on how to hide many of their own symptoms. So they appear to be a little forgettful when in fact the process is in a later stage. It's the WORST of all the diseases anyone can get. I would rather die of cancers all over me! Some people have the fast form of AD- they are lucky, I hate to say. Others have it for 20 yrs. The confusion and cross generational talk can be very upsetting for families. One thing that is SO hard to deal with is when families don’t realize how far advanced the disease has gotten. People with this disease learn early on how to hide many of their own symptoms. So they appear to be a little forgettful when in fact the process is in a later stage.

It’s the WORST of all the diseases anyone can get. I would rather die of cancers all over me!

]]> By: Cousin Dave http://just-raven.com/kims-mom/#comment-142 Cousin Dave Fri, 29 Sep 2006 14:10:41 +0000 http://just-raven.com/kims-mom/#comment-142 My maternal grandmother died of Alzheimer's last year. Fortunately for her, the end came relatively quickly once the disease set in; she only had to suffer for eight months or so. She was 99 when she died. I only became aware a few years ago that there were always mother-daughter issues between her and my mother (although nothing as severe as what you describe). My grandmother was pretty demanding. For the last 7-8 years of her life, she suffered from osteoporosis and was confined to bed and wheelchair; even in her frail, underweight condition, her legs wouldn't support her weight. My mother moved her to various nursing homes, trying to find someplace she would like, but she was hyper-critical of all of them. She always wanted to move back to her house, but that was impossible. She couldn't take care of herself, much less keep up with maintaining a house. And, the neighborhood was going down, and it was dangerous for an elderly lady to be there by herself. My poor mom and stepfather did the best they could, and she didn't have a lot of help. Admittedly, a nursing home isn't a bed of roses. For one, the food was awful. Whenever I or my brother would go to visit her, we'd smuggle in a hamburger. The last time I saw her was Christmas 2004. She had been hard of hearing for some years, so having a conversation with her was always difficult, but up until then she had been sharp of mind. I always brought her a puzzle book; she was an avid fan of acrostic puzzles. Since she couldn't hear me very well, the conversation usually consisted of saying hello and then me listening while she told me randomly selected stories of her life: her days as a young lady, her father (who was murdered in a grocery store robbery), my mother's childhood, etc. I didn't mind; I actually enjoyed hearing the stories. I had been to see her the previous October, and she had seemed confused; she kept losing the thread of what she was trying to say, and had to start over. I had mentioned it to my mom at the time, and she told the nursing home staff about it. They thought it might have been caused by the painkillers she was prescribed, and that they would try something else. However, the Christmas visit was different. She thought I was my uncle. And at the time, my uncle was going through a separation with his wife, and ehe talked to me about personal details of his marriage that I really didn't want to hear -- TMI. It was highly embarassing and a little frightening. I tried several times to convince her that I wasn't my uncle, but then, she started addressing me as if I were my stepfather. At that point, it started to get creepy. I wrapped up the conversation as quickly as I could without being rude, and left. There was no doubt now about what it was, and I knew when I left that I had just had my last conversation with my grandmother. She died in August 2005, ironically while my mother was on an overseas business trip. My uncle called and told me. I offered to help with the arrangements, but he insisted on doing it all himself. We had the funeral after my mom got back. My maternal grandfatehr died in 1961, when I was but a toddler; I only barely remember him. My grandmother never remarried or even dated again as far as I know. She lived over half of her life as a widow. I guess she was finally ready to rejoin her husband. My maternal grandmother died of Alzheimer’s last year. Fortunately for her, the end came relatively quickly once the disease set in; she only had to suffer for eight months or so. She was 99 when she died.

I only became aware a few years ago that there were always mother-daughter issues between her and my mother (although nothing as severe as what you describe). My grandmother was pretty demanding. For the last 7-8 years of her life, she suffered from osteoporosis and was confined to bed and wheelchair; even in her frail, underweight condition, her legs wouldn’t support her weight. My mother moved her to various nursing homes, trying to find someplace she would like, but she was hyper-critical of all of them. She always wanted to move back to her house, but that was impossible. She couldn’t take care of herself, much less keep up with maintaining a house. And, the neighborhood was going down, and it was dangerous for an elderly lady to be there by herself. My poor mom and stepfather did the best they could, and she didn’t have a lot of help. Admittedly, a nursing home isn’t a bed of roses. For one, the food was awful. Whenever I or my brother would go to visit her, we’d smuggle in a hamburger.

The last time I saw her was Christmas 2004. She had been hard of hearing for some years, so having a conversation with her was always difficult, but up until then she had been sharp of mind. I always brought her a puzzle book; she was an avid fan of acrostic puzzles. Since she couldn’t hear me very well, the conversation usually consisted of saying hello and then me listening while she told me randomly selected stories of her life: her days as a young lady, her father (who was murdered in a grocery store robbery), my mother’s childhood, etc. I didn’t mind; I actually enjoyed hearing the stories. I had been to see her the previous October, and she had seemed confused; she kept losing the thread of what she was trying to say, and had to start over. I had mentioned it to my mom at the time, and she told the nursing home staff about it. They thought it might have been caused by the painkillers she was prescribed, and that they would try something else.

However, the Christmas visit was different. She thought I was my uncle. And at the time, my uncle was going through a separation with his wife, and ehe talked to me about personal details of his marriage that I really didn’t want to hear — TMI. It was highly embarassing and a little frightening. I tried several times to convince her that I wasn’t my uncle, but then, she started addressing me as if I were my stepfather. At that point, it started to get creepy. I wrapped up the conversation as quickly as I could without being rude, and left.

There was no doubt now about what it was, and I knew when I left that I had just had my last conversation with my grandmother. She died in August 2005, ironically while my mother was on an overseas business trip. My uncle called and told me. I offered to help with the arrangements, but he insisted on doing it all himself. We had the funeral after my mom got back. My maternal grandfatehr died in 1961, when I was but a toddler; I only barely remember him. My grandmother never remarried or even dated again as far as I know. She lived over half of her life as a widow. I guess she was finally ready to rejoin her husband.

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