Once again, another course of antibiotics, and another infection down. Mom's clear-minded and talking again. "Back to her old self," as one of her nurses promised last weekend. Well, maybe not quite back to her old self -- but back to her old self before this particular infection.
Mom spoke to some friends and relatives today on the phone. With me, she talked about being lonely in the home, and wanting to live "in a normal house." I explained a few times that the level of care she needed made that impossible, but she's not having any of it. In any event she was very clear-minded, and she is also appreciative of our visits, and everyone's calls. She just hates where she ended up, in a very general way: she doesn't want to live in a nursing home. Of course she does not place much stock in the many details of her care. She wants what she wants, and there's nothing for that, but she's also glad that I'll be coming back in the morning. She's clear-minded enough that she pressed me for a time, and I told her mid-morning.
I encouraged her to talk with the staff and with her roommate as much as she could. I don't think she can keep pace with other residents. It's a pity nobody knows her from before the stroke. We all have so little patience with one another, that I know instinctively that it's a long shot that she'll be able to form relationships with other residents. I've tried to introduce her to her roommate, but not successfully. People want the next line in a conversation in what they consider a reasonable timeframe, whether or not they understand one another or see eye-to-eye. I think her roommate is just plain afraid of her.
But the staff at Woodbine did make note that she's been talking much more again, and are quite patient. I saw her interact with one nurse - but it's not like having friends there and being a real part of the community. I hope she does get some relief from the tedium of the days with the staff. I tell her that her nurses are happy to turn on her television for her, in which she showed absolutely no interest. She only wants to live in a normal house.
So would I.
I tell her "You live here now." Insofar as she stays lucid, I think it's the best way to approach it, rather than tell her tall tales about a miraculous recovery. My miracle is she talks, asks me to play songs, jokes and laughs when she is in a good mood, and is "there" once again, for whatever length of time she stays lucid before the next infection.
We'll get together again tomorrow morning, and with luck, she'll be in a more accepting state of mind.
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