Thursday, December 14, 2017


Never ever ever agree with your six year old and tell your wife that she looks like "Cruella DeVille" nor should you tell her she has an "old lady" haircut when she's trying to grow out a pixie and JUST got back from the salon.

For the record, I felt like a fucking rockstar when I got home.  That lasted the whole 20 seconds from when I walked through the door and took off my hat (and the only reason I was wearing a hat was because I had to put gas in the car and it was 7 degrees outside - you'd be wearing a hat too).  Thanks for completely ruining it for me.  Both you and the six year old.

Oh, and then don't wonder why your wife really doesn't want to be in the same room as you.   Here's a hint:  you made her cry for 10 minutes. She's still so mad that she's not even sure she wants to go see Star Wars with you tomorrow.  She may go, but she probably isn't going to talk to you.  Just saying. 

Monday, December 04, 2017


I saw this a while ago and it just really kind of spoke to me.  Not only did it sound like a fun thing to do, because anyone who REALLY knows me, knows that I absolutely love to do two things:  1) sing random things for no particular reason and 2) Yell REALLY loudly - also usually random things/sayings.

Today is feeling like a Plot Twist-y kind of day. 

Today, I have to put on my super big girl pants and go see the last of the specifically made for memory care facilities that are available in the area.  This means I have to make a decision.  This also means I have to start planning for everything else that I have conveniently until just a few moments ago (that was when my head exploded, by the way), shoved into a box at the back of my mind.  Compartmentalizing.  That's what it's called.  At least, that's what Casey tells me.  Me? I call it "Look at me! I'm an ostrich with my head in the sand!"

The hard part?  I'm the one that has to make the decision where my mom goes next.  Oh, wait, I didn't tell you this was about my mom?  Yep!  The dementia has reached a new stage and it's not going well.  My current favorite word:  Aqueducts.  Because it all goes without saying. 

For the past few weeks I have been touring memory care specific facilities.  It has become very clear to me over the course of the past few months (and especially the past few weeks) that my mom can no longer stay in her current assisted living facility.  While it's lovely for people who don't have dementia, for the people that do... Well, let's just say I don't think that when a nurse, who works with geriatric folks, should be surprised when someone who has dementia behaves in a certain way that is contrary to the other people in the facility who do not suffer from dementia.  Also, when there are hygiene specific issues that could have been easily remedied by just actually checking on said person the way they're supposed to be checked on?  Yeahhhhhh..... I am not a happy camper and nor should I have to get all shouty at people to do the damn job that we're paying them to do. 

So now I have seen all the memory care facilities in the area.  Now I get the dubious task of deciding where to send my mom next.  My mom, of course, should be a part of this decision.  BUT if there is anything that I have learned over the course of this disease is that the more choices she has, the worse it is.   I find myself constantly second guessing myself when it comes to this.  Is this the best choice? Would she enjoy this place versus the other place? Is there any way in hell I can keep her where she's at and maybe just install cameras and then get shouty when people don't do the job they're supposed to?  Or is that just a really bad idea and as my Hubby says "If you're thinking about installing cameras, doesn't that tell you something?"  It should.  It probably does.  I'm just not sure, though...


But nothing is really going wrong.  Nothing is going right either.  Nothing is just.... going? Too much? Not enough? Ugh, I just don't know.  I don't like these pants.  I think I'm going to take them off and trade them for my unicorn onesie.  And a cookie.  And it's just for the rest of the day.  I promise I'll be better tomorrow.

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Tales of Dementia.

It's 8:46pm on Tuesday.  I just got back from my Mom's Assisted Living Facility.  In case you're new to my blog, or in case you've somehow missed the last 3 years of my life (aka we're not friends on facebook), I'll give you the short version.

My mom has vascular dementia.  I always used to make jokes that she was demented.  Now, it's true.  Two years ago, we moved her into an assisted living facility when she started to forget to take her meds.  Oh, and there was the part where we made her stop driving and took away her car, too (and I also proceeded to call every car dealer in the area and tell them "DO NOT SELL THIS WOMAN A CAR!"), because she had three wrecks in 3 months.  They weren't bad wrecks, just the annoying small kind where she'd curb the car, kill a rim or rub the edge of the car on a post or something.

I normally don't handle her dementia that well.  I have a lot of guilt about the way I handle stuff.  But these past two weeks I have been Mary Freakin' Sunshine meets Deadpool (who, actually, in my humble opinion is the exact definition of Mary Freakin' Sunshine - not to be confused with Mary Sunshine because well, yeah).   I've been having issues with her AL facility.  I'm just going to leave it like this:  I'm not happy.  My mom deserves better and I'm pissed that she's not getting better than she deserves.  NOW, since I went all Mary Freakin' Sunshine on certain people over there, I have been getting daily reports.  I'm still 100% annoyed when people don't answer the phone and it takes 1/2 an hour to get someone to pick up, but yeah... it's getting better.

This afternoon, though, color me annoyed once again.  NOW, let me preface this story with this statement:  I know they're only allowed to dispense medication that the doctor prescribes, but this still annoys me every single time I have to deal with this.  It's all a liability for them, blah blah blah.

Here's the story.  My mom has a bad rash.  This is a new rash that has nothing to do with the old rash that she had last week that I had to take her to the doctor for.  This is a whole new monster.  The nurse calls me and says "Hey, I think it's an allergic reaction."  I respond with "Well, let's call the doctor."  Nurse says: "I was thinking the same thing.  If anything, we can get an order for Benadryl so she can take that and it will help." This was at 4pm.  At around 7PM, I call to check on my mom.  Mom has not had Benadryl.  I ask her if she wants me to bring her some.  She says yes please, I get in the car and head to the store to get some to take her.

I get to my mom's place, let myself in, no one is around and I head straight to her apartment.  I give her the pill, help her into bed, tuck her in, pack some stuff for her Thanksgiving trip to my cousin's house and make a mental note of all the stuff I want to do in her apartment while she's gone (starting with the stack of mail by her living room chair).

As I leave (my mom was out before I ever turned out the light), I stop at the nurses station and give them the benadryl.  They are like "Did the doctor call it in?"  I answer "I have no clue.  I just gave her one. She needed it."

I get they can't give her the pill because, well, liability.  Or, as I like to say, reasons.  But seriously?! It's annoying AF. 

Dementia is a cruel bitch of a disease.  I f-ing hate it.  There is barely a shadow of my mom left on her good days.  On her bad days (like these past 5 days) she is a fragile doll that doesn't know whether she's coming or going.  The best way to describe dementia and a persons state of mind is like this:  She see's a chair.  She knows that she's supposed to sit in the chair, but she can't figure out how to.  Alzheimers is she sees a chair, doesn't know what it is.  My mom knows what the chair is and what she's supposed to do.  She just can't connect the dots to get to sitting down.

I go through these spurts where I'm very understanding, all "it's the disease", yada yada yada.  And there there are spurts, which usually end with me feeling absolutely horrible, where I'm like "What do you mean that you lost a $500 pair of glasses that we just bought last Tuesday?!"  (True story.  We also found the glasses after looking for them for 2 days.)  Those days I get pissed at stuff that I know she can't control and know that I can't control but yeah.  I have to get better at those days.  The rest of the time, I try to look at the good.  I try to realize (and yeah, it can be tough) that she can't help what she does.  She can't help that this disease has a strangle hold on her.  She can't help that her brain isn't what it used to be.

I will tell you one thing, though.  I love my Mom.  She's pretty damn awesome.  I'm happy I still have her around.


Gratuitous cute picture of Casey and I alert!

Um, how the hell did I not post anything for 3 years?!  Have I really been THAT out of the loop?! WTF?!  Oh geez, there is so much to catch you up on.  And I don't know if it would be worth it... Maybe I'll just start writing for the sake of writing and then yeah....   I think I'll do that. 

Gratuitous Turkey Talk (or Because I really just felt like writing and couldn't come up with a better name for this blog)

Yesterday, while I was having a bit of a power nap on a massage table, my husband texted me the following:  "Can't find the turkey recipe."  Once I awoke from said power nap (which I actually woke myself up a couple of times snoring - sorry Massage Lady!), I saw the text and promptly hit my blog.  I had memorialized said turkey recipe back in 2007 in a post and figured it would just be easier to send him the link.  

And then I started reading my blog.  This is something I haven't done in EONS.  Blogging is something that I used to love to do.  I would write about stupid stuff.  I could write for hours.  I could and would write about any stupid thing I could possibly come up with.  I loved it.  Correction, I love it.  Well, maybe... I love writing.  At least, I think I do.  I'm honestly not sure.  

I laughed at some of my entries.  I enjoyed reading the various entries and the silliness that the kids had said, the various adventures that we all got into and I'm thinking that yeah... I need to get back to that.  I'm out of practice.  I need to write more.  I need to be more vocal and I need to have more fun with it.  So yeah... Here goes.