fuck

Well, the news from my mother’s appointment at the Memory Clinic was not good. She has Alzheimer’s. I think we all were very afraid that’s what it is, but at the same time we hoped it was just a weird memory thing. But at this point it’s pretty obvious that something is really wrong. She’s moved beyond just being a little forgetful to having basically no short term memory at all, and also doing weird things like not wanting to be alone in the house and following my father out to the garage if he’s working on something out there. VERY out of character – she’s always liked time to herself. So it’s no surprise, but…it just really really sucks to find out that’s it. There’s no hope.

Her mother probably had it too. Her doctor said she didn’t, but she didn’t have a shred of short term memory by the time she died. The same doctor also said Mama didn’t have it a few years ago when we were really getting concerned. Grandma always knew us, though, and her personality never changed at all, so hopefully Mama will be like that too.

It’s really weird, because I keep thinking nothings changed– it’s not like she’s had a stroke or something and is suddenly debilitated, or has been diagnosed with cancer and given a few months to live. Nothing’s changed, except now we know what’s wrong. Now we know it’s not something the doctor can tweak a bit, give her a pill or some supplements or something, and make everything okay. It’s not just normal aging.

On the good side, the Memory Clinic is wonderful. I can see why it took six months to get an appointment. It’s in an old house, is very peaceful and homey and not at all like a doctor’s office. Everyone we talked to was SO NICE. The doctor was just amazing. She talked to my sister-in-law and me separately after they’d done a bunch of tests and asked Mama a bunch of questions with us in the room, and when she told me and my sister-in-law the bad news we pretty much both just burst into tears. And the doctor was all teary herself, which I found very comforting, in a weird way. That she would be nearly crying herself because we were. That’s got to be awful, giving people news like that.

So at least she’ll have good care. And they were so conscious of not upsetting Mama, and making sure someone was always with her, and making her feel comfortable. She’d been very unhappy about going to this appointment, but by the time we left was perfectly okay with having a followup. They didn’t tell her what’s really wrong – the doctor told her there were some definite problems with her short-term memory, and she’s prescribed some medicine to help with that. It’s Aracept, or something like that. And she needs to gain some weight, since she’s down to ninty nine pounds. She forgets to eat, and doesn’t have much of an appetite. So she’s got to drink Ensure twice a day, which she hates but has agreed to do anyway.

By the time the appointment was over – it took three hours, and that was all tests and talking and no just waiting around – Becky and I were able to act like everything was fine. We took her to lunch and actually had a nice time. We both claimed allergy problems to explain away red eyes, since we’d sat outside on their very pleasant porch for awhile. And we both do have allergies.

But she said the weirdest thing when we went out to talk to the doctor and left her with the assistant to do some more tests. They told her we were going to just go out to wait on her and have some coffee, and she asked the assistant if we were off somewhere crying. I found that bizarre, and so did they – the doctor and assistant both mentioned it. Later she was concerned that we were sitting around bored to death with waiting on her, but asking if we were crying freaked me out a little. I’ve always been convinced she’s psychic.

And my father, who didn’t go because he had a dentist appointment (and we didn’t want him to because he has no tact and would probably do more harm than good) took it well. One of his good friends told him some time ago that he was afraid it was Alzheimer’s, because his wife had it and Mama was showing a lot of similar signs. So I think he’d kind of been prepared for it. And I’m hoping now that he’ll start making an effort to cook for them, since she’s quit cooking and they go out for EVERY MEAL. And he eats his and half of hers, so is gaining weight when HE’S the one who is supposed to be losing it. We’ve mentioned Meals on Wheels, so I hope we can get him to agree to that too.

Well, it just sucks. Oh, and it also sucks that I’m at risk for it, and so is Becky, whose grandmother had it. I’ve already informed Baker B that he may as well be preparing himself to take care of me and Becky AND my brother, as the three of us are doomed as doomed can be. We did get some information on how to at least try to avoid it, so when I can stand to look at it will. Exercise is at the top of the list; the doctor told us that. My memory is awful already, and Becky’s said before that she’s worried for years about, every time she can’t think of a word or forgets to do something.

Writing about it has actually made me feel better. I’ve felt just awful all day, which I’m sure is normal. Or I guess more accurately, I have periods of being fine and then it kind of hits me again.

And as if that’s not enough, we had a mini-crisis over Baker B’s mother tonight. The phone rang at 11, which is very late to be getting phone calls, and it was Baker B’s brother in Maryland, who had been trying all night to get their mother and wasn’t getting an answer. By 11, he was starting to panic – he’d called her next door neighbor and Sam said her lights were on and her car was there, but she didn’t answer the door. And I think Sam knew where the extra key is, and tried opening the door but couldn’t get it opened. So Baker B’s brother called us to see if we had any idea where she was, and when we didn’t, he called the police. We sat here trying to imagine what on earth she might be doing and coming up with reasons her lights were on and her door was locked and her car was there that didn’t involve her having dropped dead. Or at best having fallen and broken her hip – she’s around 84. Baker B thought something had likely happened to her older sister, who is in a nursing home, and her niece had probably come and gotten her and she hadn’t thought to call anyone. I was ready to just jump in the car and drive down there – it’s about an hour away – but then Baker B tries calling her. And she’s just gotten home from an evening out with some friends, and is REALLY peeved to find the police on her porch breaking the door.

So I’m sure glad we didn’t go rushing down there. Now we all feel kind of silly, and she said, “I haven’t been out anywhere in forever, and when I finally DO go somewhere, you call the POLICE!!!!” Yikes. But seriously, she’s usually in bed by like NINE. She also never leaves her lights on. And Sam not being able to open the door made us even more alarmed, since that would indicate she was there and had the deadbolts locked from the inside. Of course, that door is extremely hard to open, and Sam is kind of a drunk. Better safe than sorry, though, I guess.

Well, I’ve got to go to bed. It’s nearly three in the morning.