Those who care for someone with Dementia know that each new day presents new challenges. Even the most mundane tasks — things that people would consider simple or routine, become filled with difficulty and stress.
My 82 year-old mother had an 11 a.m. appointment at the Wal-Mart vision center. Mom had lost her glasses (or had hid them so well that we couldn’t find them) and our only option was a new pair. She was struggling without them, unable to read or even watch TV. WalMart could see her right away and since fast was what we needed, I made the appointment.
I arrived at Mom’s house at 9, knowing that she would not be ready and would need the extra time. Although Mom is physically healthy, she can no longer remember how to complete basic tasks and needs step by step instruction. I explained where we were going and sent her to the bedroom to dress while I used the opportunity to clean up her kitchen, another chore she can no longer manage.
I washed and dried the dishes. As I put them away, I discovered that the cupboards were a mess. There were coffee cups in three different cabinets. Bowls were in every cupboard except where I would expect to find them. Every cupboard, drawer, corner, or available cubby was stashed with neatly folded plastic and paper bags that Mom has saved. I reorganized the cabinets, putting things back where they belong. I tossed excess bags into the trash.
Mom returned to the kitchen, still in her nightgown. “Did you say we are going out today?”
I explained again that we were going to the eye doctor to replace the glasses she had lost. I told her that she needed to dress. Mom returned to the bedroom. Ten minutes later I was about to check on her when she returned to the kitchen, wearing slacks and a dress jacket. She had placed a large brooch in the middle of the jacket in line with the buttons. She was making an attempt to look nice, even if the pin was awkwardly placed. She still had bedroom slippers on her feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the eye doctor, Mom,” I said. “We have an appointment to get you a new pair of glasses.” I always answer her questions as if it’s the first time she has asked it. There is no point in getting impatient and making her feel bad about not remembering.
“Oh that’s good! I can’t find my glasses.”
“That’s a pretty jacket” I told her. “but where are your shoes?
She looked down at her feet. “I don’t know.” She looked perplexed.
I took a walk through the house and found a pair of shoes. Back in the bedroom, she was placing a handkerchief into what I knew was an otherwise empty handbag. My Dad was there. He gave her some spending money which she added to the empty purse.
Mom slipped on the shoes I’d found but was reluctant to cover her pretty jacket with a coat. The outdoor temperature was below freezing. I got a winter jacket out of the closet and made her put it on. When we got into the car, Mom immediately opened her purse and began going through the empty compartments. She found the money and looked relieved.
Closing the bag, she rested it on her lap as I backed out of the driveway. We had not reached the end of the street before she opened the bag and began to search the pockets once again.
I watched out of the corner of my eye. I knew she was searching for her cash. “Did I bring money?” she asked nervously.
“Yes Mom. You just had it in your hand. It’s in a zippered pocket.”
As I drove down the highway, she continued to search the handbag completely missing the hard to see zipper inside the bag. I could feel her becoming upset and agitated.
“It’s not here! I think I must have set it down on the table at home.”
“No, Mom your money is in your purse. Don’t worry. I’ll show you when we get there.”
“It’s not here! We’d better turn around and go back. I have to have money!” Her panic was growing.
“Okay Mom. It’s alright.” I flipped on my turn signal and pulled into an empty parking lot and put the car in ‘park’. I couldn’t ignore her feelings no matter how irrational they were.
“Let me take a look.” I reached for Mom’s purse and unzipped the inner compartment. “Here is your money,” I said showing her the cash.
She laughed nervously. “Oh, for goodness sake! I thought I’d lost it!”
Pulling back onto the highway, I hadn’t driven but a few seconds when she reopened the bag and looked inside. “Did Dad give you the money? I don’t see my money.”
My heart sank. In that moment I realized just how short her short term memory had become. She was incapable of remembering the money in her bag for more than a few brief seconds.
“No Mom, the money is in your purse.”
“I don’t think I brought any money! We need to go back so that I can get money.”
“You’ve got money Mom.”
She was distraught and close to tears. I pulled off the road for a second time. I repeated my previous actions, taking the purse, unzipping the inner pocket, and showing her the money that was tucked safely inside.
“Oh good! I couldn’t find it!”
I pulled back onto the road. We had only a mile or so to go. I hoped I could get there before she had a total melt down.
“I don’t think I brought any money. Did Dad give it to you?”
Maybe it would help to try something new. “Yes Mom,” I lied. “Dad gave the money to me.”
She gave a deep sigh. “Oh, thank goodness!” She put her purse down on the floor next to her feet and began to enjoy the view out the window. Was it really going to be that easy?
I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot and found a spot not-too-far from the door to limit our walk in the day’s icy, blowing wind. Mom picked up her purse. “Do I have any money?”
“Yes Mom.” I took her cash out of her purse. “Let’s put the money in my purse,” I suggested. “That way you can leave your purse in the car, and you won’t have to think about it.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea!” She seemed happy to pass on the responsibility to me.
Inside the vision center I filled out her form. They called her name and we were led to an exam room. Mom climbed into the exam chair. The young optician maneuvered his machine around and placed it in front of Mom’s face.
“Can you read this line of letters?” he asked.
Mom sat staring ahead. “Umm…
He made the letters bigger. “How about these.”
“Ahhh…”
He clicked his remote and made them larger still. They were so big that I knew she had to see them.
“Can you make out any letter on the line?” he asked.
Mom paused. “There might be an ‘E’.”
The first letter was indeed a giant ‘E.’
“How about the rest of the line?”
“I think the next one is a 2.” She was close. It was the letter Z.
Mom went silent. The optician sighed.
“Anything else?” he asked.
As Mom failed to give any response, I could feel the optician becoming frustrated and annoyed. Had he not read her chart and seen that she had dementia? I had chosen the WalMart location because they had the earliest available appointment. It may have been the wrong choice. This optician wasn’t prepared for a challenging patient on a Monday morning. I could see his growing impatience. He wanted to be done with us. I was afraid he was going to say something to upset Mom or send her away without finishing. I’d been sitting quietly, but now I spoke up.
“Mom, are the letters blurry or can you just not remember what that first letter i called?”
The doctor spun around and looked at me with surprise. The possibility that Mom didn’t know the name of an ‘A’ hadn’t crossed his mind. He changed tactics and began flipping lenses around, asking her if one was better than another. Mom was finally able to answer his questions. He placed an optical frame on her and gave Mom a card to read. She began reading aloud, without a bit of trouble. The optician quickly finisheH ois bedside manner needed some work.d the exam, wrote her prescription and showed us the door. Fortunately, Mom did not notice that his bedside manner was lacking.
Mom spent several minutes trying different frames. She couldn’t tell me if she wanted plastic frames or wire. She bounced indecisively, from one frame to the next. Most were too large for her small face. I finally chose the one I liked best and handed it to her. “Try this one,” I said, “It’s a ‘Sophia Loren.'” Mom wouldn’t relate to most of the movie star labels stickered on the fake lenses, but I knew she’d know Sophia Loren. She slipped on the frames and looked in the mirror. She turned toward me with a questioning look, unable to make her own decision.
“Those are beautiful on you,” I said. “And they have pretty scrollwork on the temple. Dad likes Sophia Loren,” I teased, “Let’s get this one.” Mom smiled with approval and remained quiet as we waited for the technician to complete our transaction.
Photo by Quincy Follweiler on Unsplash
When the technician left the table for a minute Mom whispered to me “Did Dad give you money? I don’t have my purse!”
Dad had wanted me to take Mom shopping for some new clothes as she has not been shopping in months. Mom followed me through WalMart as I walked from rack to rack. She made no attempt to browse. She looked lost and overwhelmed and had no interest in anything I showed her. Mom is no longer capable of traditional shopping.
I led her out of the store, deciding that I would use Amazon’s “try before you buy” feature and order some clothing for her to try on at home. It would allow her to have some choice in what she wears, but she could try things on in the comfort of her own house. On our way home, we stopped to get lunch for both her and my Dad who is house bound and could not even come along for the ride. The fast food would be a treat for them both.
I was back in my own home for less than an hour when my phone rang. Seeing “Mom and Dad” pop up on the caller ID always causes my heart to skip.
“Did I leave my new glasses in your car?” Mom was distraught. After spending a week searching for her old glasses, she now believed she had lost her new ones.
“No, Mom, you don’t have glasses yet. We ordered them but they have to make them. You didn’t bring any glasses home.”
“Oh! I’m so relieved! I thought I’d lost them!”
An hour passed. The phone rang again.
“Did I buy glasses?”
I was afraid Mom would continue to call me all night, but I was more afraid that she wouldn’t. I’m always worried she will continue to fret but not call for fear of being too much of an imposition on me. Despite her condition she remains kind and thoughtful and is aware of the things that others do for her. She doesn’t want to be a burden. I don’t mind the phone calls or the need to constantly reassure her. For me the difficulty is in hearing the pain and panic in her voice when she doesn’t understand what is happening.
I did not get any more phone calls that day. Instead, I learned that my brother had stopped to visit at dinnertime. He asked Mom how her appointment at the eye doctor had gone.
“Eye doctor? Did I go to the eye doctor?”
It had taken only a couple of hours for Mom’s brain to completely erase everything that had occurred that day.
I often wonder what it feels like to live inside a mind that has gone so far astray. It must be a confusing and frightening place to live. In this case, Mom will no longer worry about losing her glasses, because she no longer remembers having purchased them. It is one tiny blessing.
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