A different definition of 'eating'

Mama takes pills. Like every other 83 year old woman in the universe. She's not on anything... outrageous or even out of the ordinary. Vitamins, aspirin, anti-acid, blood pressure meds, calcium, poop pills, blood pills, and my personal favorite... HAPPY PILLS! Several of the meds either NEED to be taken with food or it's recommended. Ok, so, she was getting indigestion A LOT, so I started to ask her what she ate for breakfast before she took her pills.

She ate 2 donut holes. Or maybe a few crackers. Like 2 or 3.

Uh huh. And???

That's all.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but 2 donut holes do NOT constitute "eating" when you are taking meds that NEED FOOD.

Ok. I found this out pretty long ago, and it continues to be a source of amusement as she can NOT remember that she needs to eat more than 2 donut holes for breakfast.

Sigh.

Last weekend we had this conversation after I put her pills on the table next to her and she proceeded to take them... Now I've been taking care of giving her the meds for about 2 years now. The eating rule has been in effect the WHOLE TIME. Right, now...

"What are you doing?"

"Taking my pills."

"Did you eat?"

"No."

"hmm... Ok, then why are you taking your pills."

"Because I'm supposed to take them, aren't I?"

"Yes, but after you eat. You know you are supposed to eat first?"

"Yes."

Ok, so I make her a nice biscuit with sausage and egg and cheese and general microwaved goodness. She took 2, yes I counted, 2 bites, and took the rest of the pills. Then announced that she was too full to finish it.

Crazy is my friend, he comes to visit often.

So, what the heck's wrong with her anyway?

Whew.

Mama.

That's a loaded word in this family.

Even when Mama wasn't going senile she was pretty, well, nuts. With Mama you always needed to keep your bags packed. Ready for the guilt trip.

These days she has small blood vessel constriction of the brain. Neat. What that means is that she has memory issues. Now memory issues combined with her slightly... well.. off personality makes for interesting times. It's amazing the things she remembers. Then the things she remembers but has genetically manipulated so it's sort of like reality. Then the things that she pulls out of thin air. The best though are the combination of clueless and manipulation.

For instance. This woman thinks that sweatpants are the greatest clothing every created. She has several dozen pair of them. Since she no longer attempts the stairs, and since there's not a lot of room for her clothing in the living room, we keep her stuff upstairs. Where she can't go. So, when she would like to wear some different pair than the ones she has on, Deb or I bring some down. No biggie, right? Ah, but here's how she asks. "I guess I don't have any other of this kind of pants. What do you call them?" "Sweatpants." "Oh yes, that's right. I guess I don't have any. The next time you go to the store, you could get me some."

Sigh.

"You have lots of them upstairs."

"Oh? I do? Well, I can't go up there so someone else will have to bring them down."

Sigh.

"Yes, what color would you like?"

10 minutes go by.


"I guess I don't have any sweatpants."

"Yes, I told you there are some upstairs and the next time I go up, I'll get some."

"Oh, OK"

10 minutes...

"Do I have more sweatpants?"

"URG GASP GARGGLE GAG GAAAAAAAAAA"

"Yes, they are upstairs."

"Yes, that's right you told me."

Growing Roots

Occasionally while I'm puttering around in Mama's house, I realize that I've spent a huge amount of my life living in that house. Mom and I lived in the attic for a while when I was pretty little. I spent most summers there, and after we moved back to town when I was in 4th grade, I spent weekends and after school time there. Living there now isn't the same, but I still get those moments of recognition. The sound of walking down the hall, the smell of clay dust, the bell on the stairs.

I moved back in with Mama and Papa the last time when Sissy and I started, ok, well maybe not started, but got to the point where we just could NOT get along. Mama's was always a refuge for me. A safe haven away from the crap in my life.

When the shit hit the fan with Sissy, I called Mama and she said that I should come and stay with them. That was about 10 years ago, and I'm still there. Things with Sissy certainly have gotten better and who knows where it will go. But, since Mama now NEEDS to have someone with her, this works out quite well. I have good things on both sides, and not always such good things, but overall, it works and has for a decade.

In the beginning

Occasionally when talking to mom about Mama, she says, "You should write a book." Well, ok, so maybe this is the next best thing. Even though I have other blogs, I'm going to stick to the subject of Mama (pronounced Maw-Maw.)

Living with an 83 year old woman who is losing her marbles can be interesting, taxing, annoying, frustrating, rewarding, but never, never ever dull. She has good days and bad, sometimes she can remember things perfectly, other times she can't remember what day it is or occasionally, who I am. There are days when banging my head against a wall would be more rewarding than dealing with her, but I've chosen this and I have to deal with it.

In the next few posts I'm going to give a brief history of living here. I'm going to try to inject a lot of humor into these posts because as my uncle used to say "if it's not funny, it's exactly what it is."

So here goes...