Well, I've been waiting to find time to really create my blog page, "decorate" it and all, but it doesn't seem to come, so I decided that I just need to start writing before it's too late. I will add to the blog memories of recent months as time allows.
My mom, affectionately called Mema, is getting more & more confused. She has been in quite a bit a of pain, due to her right knee, for some time. At age 87, frail, and with a history of heart attack, congestive heart failure, and other problems, the doctor has not even mentioned the possibility of a knee replacement, but she thinks she can have one & every thing will be hunky-dorey. Sorry, Mema.
The doctor has, however, increased her narcotic meds to daily doses because she really does complain (constantly) about pain otherwise. I'm talking about constant moaning & groaning, and owee, owee, owee, and the like. VERY irritating to listen to allll daaay loooong!!!
I was concerned about addiction, but doc said she is not concerned about addiction for an 87 year old, but more concerned that she is as near to pain-free as reasonably possible.
We are not sure if is the drugs, or if she is just slipping into dementia faster & faster. Each night for the last week, she has asked if we are leaving now, or leaving this place. When I explain to her that this "place" is our home, she gets more confused, and continues to ask if we're going back to where we live, or where are we going to sleep?
Yesterday, starting in the early evening, she thought our house was a trailer (it's over 3,200 sq ft!), and how "they" put several trailers together to make this one. About an hour after she went to bed, she got up and came into the family room asking, "who has the key?" "Key to what, Mema?" "To this place," she says. "This is our home, Mema," I say. "That's what you say about every place we go." "We haven't been anywhere but here, Mema." Then in confusion, she goes back to bed. I tuck her in & kiss her goodnight again.
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