My mum has always been prone to a slightly fanciful and paranoid interpretation of the world and now, with her cognitive powers reducing, it is becoming more extreme.
Mum has been in aged care for about eight weeks now and is very unhappy with it. Dad had done a lot for her and she kidded herself that she was more independent than she was. When Dad died, the truth of her situation quickly became undeniable. In a short space of time she lost her husband, her home, her illusion of independence and her control. She's mad about it all and with faulty logic as well, it makes things interesting.
When Mum was in hospital and waiting for an aged care place, she started telling us the hospital was reducing the size of her meals in an effort to make her leave. Now that she's in aged care she doesn't have an explanation for changing meal sizes but when she's unhappy she says her meals are shrinking and on a good day she is excited to report that they are increasing the size of the meals.
I know she's listed for "large" meals and I know that the meal sizes are probably quite tightly managed so I'm sure the size doesn't change but her inability to make choices might have an impact: given the choice of, say, eggs or porridge, she will say she wants beans. No amount of repeating the options will inspire her to make a clear choice so the staff are forced to take a guess. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them give up and just pick the simplest thing out of a range of options.
In all of my memory, Mum has never liked thick custard or rice pudding but take her a thick, dairy style "protein dessert" and she thinks her birthdays have all come at once.
I'm struggling to ever have a good visit with her (she accuses me of dumping her in a sub-standard room and leaving her to rot). She is also super reluctant to leave her room or her motorised lift chair so there's really very little scope for much variety but I have developed a semi-successful formula for visits. I take Sally with me and stop at the local McDonalds on the way. I get coffee and maybe an apple pie or ice cream. Then, I hope to get a park in one of the centre's four visitor spaces so I don't have to park on the main road. There's a delicate act to get the coffees and the dog out and try not to get cleaned up by a passing bus.
Walking through the centre holding a dog lead, a walking stick and a wobbly coffee tray takes all the concentration and patience (and frankly, luck) I can muster. I wondered if a dog stroller might make the whole process easier, Maybe I could put the coffee on top and ditch the walking stick. Or maybe I can take a thermos with me so the coffee is in something less spillable than a wobbly tray and paper cup. Maybe I can find some kind of little handled carrier that would perfectly fit two coffee cups so they could swing off my fingers instead of holding the tray in my hand.
When I arrive at her room, I ply Mum with caffeine and sugar and distract her with silly, exaggerated stories of a geriatric dog. Tomorrow I have a magazine to take as well. Hopefully it will be a good day.
