A recent lesson for me is that big changes can happen quite suddenly. A few days ago, my mother underwent a sudden and almost complete loss of her problem-solving ability. These problems can be as simple as how to get into or out of bed or the process of changing clothes. Since I already prepare and bring her meals, and do house cleaning, the tasks left to her are few, but these are now becoming difficult for her to manage. Will I be able to adapt to her new requirements and meet her needs well enough?
The Path of Progression
This decade has seen many difficult changes for my mother. A number of years back, I started noticing that her memory wasn’t what it used to be, especially in the area of short-term memory. This progressed through the past decade, getting worse with each passing year. The word “confabulation” entered my vocabulary a couple years back when I started seeing some emotional instability and dealing with false accusations on a semi-regular basis. It was a major challenge for me to learn how to respond to these situations, I do much better these days.
Over this last year, she’s come to a point where she can tell the same story or even ask the same question several times in a row. And most recently, we’ve crossed another major milestone on the dementia trail – her problem-solving ability has virtually vanished. When I say “problem-solving” I’m talking about her being able to execute normal activities of daily life, the things that she’s been doing fairly well until now.
The Stages of Dementia
There are different scales used by different groups. In looking through the various scales, I found a clear sense of familiarity with the progression described in the FAST (Functional Assessment Staging Test) chart.
Based on this chart, mom is now well into stage 6. She struggles to get dressed on her own and gets confused about getting in and out of bed. She’s unable to bathe herself, so I use waterless cleansers and shampoo caps to see to her hygiene. Now using the heavy-duty incontinence pads, she’s unwilling to wear full undergarments because she says they are too uncomfortable. I’ve learned to pick my battles, but I’ve taken the step of waterproofing her chair cushion. She’s still able to manage her ileostomy at this point, but I can see that I may need to start helping with such things before long.
What’s Next for Us?
I’m sure it goes without saying that identifying where she’s at today and what comes next on the FAST scale is very sobering. If she loses her ambulatory ability, it will be a game changer for us. Eventually she may need help with everything. If she loses the ability to feed herself and can no longer see to her own needs in the toilet – how will I handle this? Will I be able to step up and provide all the care she needs?
Right now, I haven’t a clue on what this will mean to my daily life. I’ve already put so much of my life on hold to see to her care. And now I’m wondering where I may start thinking about drawing my line in the sand, the point where I decide to step back and pass her care along to someone more qualified.
My Next Steps
I’ve been encouraged to reach out to a local hospice to learn about the available services and resources. My cousin has already done this for her mother, for whom she is a caregiver. If there are helpful resources out there, I owe it to both of us to explore them well. And mostly, it will give me a view of what my options are going forward in caring for my mother as her needs continue to increase.
I’m in this for the long run. I will do all I can for as long as I can do it. Years ago, I made her a promise that we wouldn’t move her into a care facility unless there wasn’t another option for her proper care. I’m holding myself to that promise, whether or not she remembers it. I’ll keep my mother at her home of thirty years, somewhere both comfortable and familiar to her, for as long as I’m able.
Am I at least a little worried by all this? Without a doubt. Has my resolve faltered? Not in the slightest.
Be the first to comment