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PATIENCE, PLANNING AND SUPPORT: REFLECTIONS ON DEALING WITH AGING FAMILY MEMBERS
You never really see it coming, but brain cell by brain cell, it sneaks up upon your loved one, in this case, my mother, until it becomes noticeable in ways that sadden and portend darker days ahead. When it became noticeable and suspicious, only because I had handled cases where certain signs were dead “giveaways,” I immediately reached out to a neurologist friend. My physician friend was more than accommodating and inserted her into his schedule within a short time.
I picked up Mom [and Dad]. Mom mainly was “herself,” but obviously “slipping” with names, dates, and events.
I attended the appointment with her, and the encounter seemed strangely like an “intervention.” My father had health issues, so I insisted he remain out of the room. He had always shown himself to be in denial of “issues” that were clear indications of a cognitive decline in his wife of 60 years. Awkwardly, I asked him to stay clear of this physician encounter so that it could be conducted as “objectively”
as I could manage it. The emotions would obscure data exchange with him in the room, and events muddle the conclusion or diagnosis. I cared deeply about my mother, but someone had to approach this situation as objectively and analytically as possible, and among my siblings, that responsibility fell to me.
The notion that I would take my mom to a physician’s visit solely for her long-term help, only to allow the encounter to be skewed with emotion and tears, was frightening. Dad was not happy with me for excluding him, but by that time in his life, the father-son dynamic had essentially reversed so that
he was mainly deferring to me on these and other matters. He was mortified that the doctor would confirm my worst fears, which signaled a new beginning for him, which, in
the end, it did. He was a retired [kind of] Southern Baptist minister, and his wife was the consummate “mate” for him. She participated with him in nearly every function that he participated in. Mom went with Dad to make hospital visits, home visits, scheduled events, and parties, and in some ways, the two of them were more active in his “retirement” than when he was “full time.”
Dad always doted over Mom, even doing things for her that were, in my mind, way over and above the “call of duty.” Even though he was a Southern California boy who met my Mom while he was stationed at Pensacola Naval Air Station, he quickly adapted to the expectations of the “South” [Alabama] when it came to his relationship with my mother. It started with him rising early in the morning for some “quiet time,” then he’d make coffee and take Mom to her while she was still in bed. Subject to their endless activities, the day usually ended with him turning the bed down for her even though she could physically do it herself. The relationship between the two was unique
to being uncharacteristically “storybook” in today’s times. They would travel, visit, and entertain others in their home to the point of breathlessness. They made me tired just watching them! Given my appreciation and protection of their relationship and having gotten resistance many times from Dad when I raised the subject of the possibility of a mental decline, his participation in this physician visit was not advisable.
We entered the room, and all seemed to be quite normal. Dr. “Jones” [only for the sake of anonymity] began the encounter with “Why are you here.” In all graciousness with my dear mother, I explained to Dr. Jones that we kids [my
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