The Most Important Tool Is Love
Gizmolove's Story
I remember one particular day in mid-spring when I was growing up. The sun was out and the birds were chirping and all seemed right with the world.
Except in my house. Because my mom had Alzheimer's Disease.
The day started like any other -- up with the sun. But I was tired because I hadn't gone to bed until almost midnight, as usual. Mom was restless at night, she was restless during the day, she never let me out of her sight. This made things pretty difficult for me because mom was bedridden and I had to fix her meals, wash clothes, and keep the house, too.
"The morning went on this way for what seemed like weeks"
This particular morning I had gotten her up to go potty on the portable pot, and used this chance to put on clean bedding. I did a little sponge bath while she was on the commode, and slipped on a clean nightgown. Once I had her back into bed fresh and powdered, I went to fix her morning milkshake. She was at a point where swallowing pills (and boy she had a lot of them) was just not practical, so I ground most of them up and added them to a cup of milk shake, along with some doctor-approved weight-gain powder. She was losing weight so fast and the more she lost, the frailer she became.
Along with the shake I fixed her cereal, toast, and fruit and took the tray to her room. Some days I could leave her alone to eat but this was not one of those days. I had to coax every bite into her. I couldn't even sneak out to do the morning dishes or check up on the laundry or get my breakfast. She required full care today. Each time I left her room, even for a minute, she screamed and hollered for me to return.
The morning went on this way for what seemed like weeks, but I had accomplished a lot in just a few short hours. My mother was clean, her bed was clean, and she'd had her breakfast and her morning pills. Her arms, feet, and legs were creamed (to prevent skin tears), and as was our morning and evening custom, her hair was combed and face washed. I adjusted the TV for the 30th or 40th time that morning and she was fed, so it was time to brush her teeth and put in her eye drops.
Meanwhile, I was continually nagged about getting those sheets into the dryer and getting the dishes done, which had by now started their own country. Yet each time I left the room she called me back because she feared being alone. And each time I asked, "What do you need?" she would make up some excuse, just to satisfy my question. I just had to go potty myself, or put up her breakfast tray, or attend to those sheets, or get a bite to eat myself, but each time I left the room she called me back in.
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