This is another mural from the near downtown area of Lafayette. It isn’t a happy picture; at least I don’t think it is. It matches my mood from yesterday.
I’ve written about my mom’s hallucinations recently. When she was taken to the hospital they were cleared up by using IV antibiotics to knock out a Urinary Tract Infection. Well, the hallucinations have come roaring back sans the infection. She has been back in the hospital being tested. There have been CAT scans, MRI’s, multiple vials of blood have been taken, as well as urine samples. They couldn’t find any cause for the hallucinations, so they sent her home with my sister saying that it was dementia. I drove up yesterday to visit and to talk with my sister about future plans.
I’ve had fun, in the past, relating some of my mother’s quirks, such as talking over the television because she isn’t interested in the program and that no one else should be either. Or the fact that she tries to hide it that she can’t really hear what you say to her. After yesterday, those things don’t seem as humorous.
When I walked into the house I was shocked at how bad she looked. The first thing my sister said was, “Twenty-nine hours and counting.” That’s how long my mom had been awake, and she didn’t sleep while I was there.
I think she might have recognized me for fifteen or twenty seconds, but I was lost to her after that. Oh, she talked about me, but it was to some invisible person sitting on the other side of her. She addressed me once, but she was looking at my brother-in-law when she did it, and the sentence trailed off without completion. The one time that she looked at me and asked a question she called me Mrs. Thorton. For the most part however, she was watching things and people who only she saw. Her hands were almost always moving, grasping at things that weren’t there. When I looked at her hands it appeared that her arthritis had caused her hands to become even more gnarled.
She eventually decided to go to bed, but she didn’t sleep. We, in the living room, could hear her singing, and then talking to my niece. But my niece was in the living room with us.
Our next step is to get my mom into a care facility because she needs constant care. We are going to try to get her moved into someplace local to where I live.
Ten or fifteen minutes after I left my sister’s home, I stopped to get a sandwich. While I was in the fast food parking lot, I received an email from Cindy that a friend of ours, Dr. Paul Kitley, had died. He was one of the nicest, kindest, men I have ever known.
He not only officiated at our wedding, but had been the person we went to for pre-marital counseling. He always gave me the impression that he was almost always siding with me rather than Cindy. I don’t know what he told Cindy in private, but she pretended to go along with it. I told you he was nice. Some years back he counseled me through a bad patch in my life.
We have had him over for dinner at our house, but not often enough. He is leaving a hole in our life as well as in the community.
A quote about a bad day
“You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don’t help.”
– Bill Watterson