A personal blog...

...chronicling the dementia adventures of...

...Girl and

The Other Girl...

...sharing hilarious and 

heartbreaking moments

of life...


...with our mom who has vascular dementia.


Care Surviving

Last week, I boasted/bemoaned that we had medicated the fight right out of Mom. Turns out, that was a bunch of baloney, and not the kind you slap between two slices of white bread smeared with mayo and mustard that sticks satisfyingly to the roof of your mouth. Nope, what I wrote last week was pure horseshit. Mom has PLENTY OF FIGHT LEFT IN HER. This became crystal clear to me this week as I fended off dementia's attacks three days in a row. Mom began her assault Friday morning; her earlier-in-the-week constipation came to an abrupt halt as she opened with the never-ever subtle Diarrhea Offensive. (I believe her objective was a Show-n-Smell of force to set the tone for what was to come.) Sat

Medicating the fight right out of Mom.

Should I be proud of that? For the last month and a half we've been messing with Mom's medications. Dr. Susan, Mom's geriatric psych doctor, recommended cutting out her daily dose of Zoloft as the Seroquel may be duplicating benefits. With pill taking getting more and more challenging for Mom we readily agreed, hoping to make her life easier by paring down the meds. Turns out, we were wrong. We broke up with Zoloft then spent two weeks watching Mom slip into increased anger, higher levels of combativeness, and flat out solar-level flare ups of rage. Dr. Susan and I both came to the same conclusion: "Wow. That was stupid. Zoloft now! Zoloft forever!" (More my words then Dr. Susan's, but we ag

A Proclamation

One final act of defamation. Things have been going pretty good around here this last week. Mom has been slowly but steadily moving out of "No!" territory (my caregiving Achilles heel), with less outward fear and hostility towards her pack of caregiving girls - making our jobs much, much easier and enjoyable, and keeping my blood pressure spikes to a minimum. I wouldn't say we've hit another dementia upswing, but the current dementia terrain has been fairly smooth - no precipitous fissures opening up under my feet to free-fall into caregiver fury, no sudden geyser spewing caregiver stress and strain that sizzles acid-like on my tentative hold on well-being. She even voluntarily danced with m

All in the family.

Reunions. A funeral. Trepidation. Humor. Dementia. It's a gray day here in the Pacific Northwest, the first foray into summer's hesitant departure. The weather is indecisive, "Should I rain? Should I sunshine? Screw it, I'll just let it mist a bit while I go back to bed." With Mom thoroughly bundled up in the warmth and tenderness of MotherMinder for the day, I'm thinking the same thoughts, but decided to forgo recumbency to reflect upon this summer as it slowly slips away. It's been a season filled with kinsman. On Mom's side of the family, a reunion in July immersed us in aunts, uncles, cousins, and various other human beings we are related to but have no idea how. It was a weekend affair

Hospice 101 (and a half)

Poor Mom. Nobody picks her for anything anymore. Well, we didn't make the cut. Our hospice Admissions Evaluation Meeting has come and gone, and it was determined that Mom is not yet ready for hospice. And I don't know how I feel about that just yet. On the one hand, when Dr. Monica made the referral I felt... relief. "Really? We're that close to end-of-life? By this time next year I may be a free agent?" Then I felt panic. "Shite! When I'm no longer focused on Mom, then I gotta focus on me." (Mom's dementia has been an excellent excuse for not getting my own life together - an unintended benefit.) "What am I gonna do? Where am I gonna live? How am I gonna survive?" And after all that THEN...

Stumped Town Dementia

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