I wish I had a way to record mom in the car. We were in the car for about 15 or 20 minutes today, on our way to the doctor, and she asked the same four or five questions dozens of times. Over and over again. I felt like she was administering a quiz, only I kept having to take the same quiz a billion times.
“What time is my appointment?
“What time is the game today?
“Is there anything I need to tell the doctor?
“Why am I going to the doctor today?
“What are we doing after this?
“Is there anything wrong with me that I need to tell the doctor?
“Do I need any medicine?
I can’t remember all the questions. So many questions. On Repeat.
The appointment went fine. Her blood sugar level is really high. No more ice cream. Not every night anyway. I laid down the law on the way home. One day a week is fine, but not every night anymore. I had her write her A1C in her calendar so she’d know what it is and know she can’t eat so much ice cream anymore. It’s a fine line to walk. She’s dying, so why shouldn’t she have all the ice cream she wants? Why hasten her death by letting her have all the ice cream she wants?
In other developments, she couldn’t figure out how to get out of the car last night. She pushed on the buttons for the windows and the door locks and neither of those opened the car door. I sat and watched her, half wondering what she was doing and why, half curious where this was going. Before I could ask she said she couldn’t figure out where the door handle was. Seconds later she found it and realized she’d been doing the wrong thing til then. It was a bizarre few seconds. There she was trying to get the door open without even looking at the door handle. How many billions of times in her life has she opened a car door? Why suddenly could she not figure it out? (Maybe it was all that ice cream she’s been eating!)
Neighbors ask me all the time how mom is doing. “Good!” I say. Is she good? Why is that so automatic an answer when I could be more truthful. And yet she is good. She’s out of her freaking mind, but overall she’s doing pretty well. She’s healthy. She chugs along like always. She’s not obviously deteriorating. She’s good. I guess? I wonder though if I’m being truthful with the neighbors. Is she good? I suppose, but also, she’s not at all well. I don’t know. How sick is someone with dementia?