Ignorance Is Bliss
This is a milestone year in my life for many reasons. This year, I turned 50. This year, a new journey began as a student. And this year, my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
In the beginning, we started to notice the anxiety and paranoia. She thought money had been stolen; she thought people were throwing rocks at her apartment and breaking in to steal things. She got confused easily when we asked too many questions, and we discovered that none of these incidents had happened.
She has always been independent. But we would now notice the smell of burned rice as we entered her apartment or laundry undone (she usually kept a spotless apartment). She would call us saying she had no food and didn’t feel well enough to get some, and then when I dropped off food, I’d notice a freezer full of things to eat that she didn’t remember was there. After we moved her, we found about 6 cases of Ziplock bags from Costco. I guess she would purchase it, use one, forget she had it, and buy more. We found many boxes of food items in storage that she forgot she had. We found money tucked away in little Ziplock bags and placed in shoes, books, and drawers. We saw jewelry hidden away in the same way. The doctors said this had been building probably for years.
Luckily, we moved her as soon as we could. Our extended family (cousins, aunts, and uncles) and good friends supported us greatly. Looking back, I don’t know how we could have done it without all the support and love we received. There were four weeks when, if I wasn’t working, I was doing something for my mom: research, reading up on the illness, talking to people, or visiting facilities. My brother, I, and our families spent many weekends going to her old place to pack it up, clean it out, and check in on her in her new place.
We decided to move her to independent living since she was able to care for herself with her basic daily needs. I learned so much about elder care during that short time, and we found a place that we all loved, and so did she. Everyone there is lovely, and we couldn’t be happier. But she was reluctant to move, which was a challenging adjustment period for all of us.
In the beginning, she was angry and violent both verbally and physically, especially toward me. It was a tough 4-6 months from when we started to have a clue that something was wrong. But as we went from doctor to doctor and she got her medication to the correct dosage, she is now happy. But it is not a one-and-done sort of thing once we moved her. This impacts our lives. She has constant questions via phone and text and expects to see us daily.
Some days, my patience is worn, and some days, I know the repetition and worry is through no fault of hers. Some days, I am so exhausted I am surprised about how I get my work done, do what needs to be done at home, and still have a few minutes with her. But it leaves me with very little energy. I don’t go out much and look forward to time at home with my pups. The emotional drain leads to physical exhaustion, and sometimes, I want to crawl into a hole and cry. Some days, I enjoy her so much because her sense of humor is back, and her laugh is infectious. But I know I need to muster up the energy to keep going.
Weirdly, this is a blessing. Even though it is exhausting for me, she has been more joyful than I have seen her in about 15 years. Her sense of humor is back and spot on. She seems at peace. She is closer, so I can spend more time with her and see her almost daily.
It is hard to see an independent and robust person change to dependent and forgetful. Knowing that, at any time, her mind will be gone entirely is a scary thought. In some ways, it is harder to see than a sudden passing. But this is where we are at. I now notice that when my mind wanders to a distant place, it is filled with childhood memories. Reality is sinking in.
When we got the official diagnosis, I asked her how she was feeling as we walked out of the doctor’s office. She immediately responded, “Sobha, I’m 82 years old; I have had no health problems; I don’t even have a cavity. Ignorance is bliss. So, this isn’t my problem; it is yours.” And she laughed as we got in the car. I’m glad she is in good spirits, and her sense of humor is intact. But there is a lot of truth to what she says. She seems ok if she hears from us (me or my brother) daily via phone or in person. I guess ignorance is bliss.
It is a strange illness, Alzheimer’s. It is hard to see someone’s mind go, especially one who fought so hard to have a life in this country. She came as an immigrant, was a nurse for almost 40 years, and lived alone for so long. But from another perspective, she laughs more now and does not have a care in the world, and I try to hold on to that. It’s the only way to move forward.