My mother's great-grand daughter (10 years old) gave my mom one of her baby dolls. Mom is stage 6c on the FAST scale (Functional Assessment Staging Test), according to her Palliative Care Nurse Practitioner.
Yesterday, I met with the NP for my mother's assessment. The day before, my niece and great-niece visited Mom and took her a baby doll. Mom accepted the doll immediately! I watched her interact with her "baby" while the NP and I took care of business. Mom was in her own world with her baby and cared less that we were there.
Mom held the doll and kissed it, talked to it, touched its nose, feet and hands. She unwrapped it from its blanket and inspected it. She wrapped it back up and cuddled it and baby-talked to it. I was shocked and awed watching my mom. She smiled and laughed as she played with her doll.
It was bittersweet to watch. And, it confirmed to me that my mother is truly gone. The NP told me that Mom is more advanced than I realize. She said she wants to see Mom every two weeks to get a better feel for where she is. She also said that she believes that she is Hospice ready, not because she is at the end of her life, but because she can benefit from the services that Hospice provides.
My mother takes Xarelto and the NP is going to also remove this medicine. She believes that the harm of taking this medicine is greater than the help. This is just another confirmation for me that my mom is declining faster than I realize.
I don't know what or how to feel. I think I am numb and tired. Accepting that my sweet mother is completely gone from me hurts. I admit that I pray for her to go to sleep and wake up in heaven. I'm so afraid that she will live to endure the end stage of this monster: can't swallow, bedridden, etc. Ya'll know the trajectory.
Thank you for listening. I just needed to share the good news that Mom has something to fill the long hours in her day. Her comfort with her new "baby" comforts me, too. I hope it lasts...
I was sole caregiver for my wonderful mother, and now for her youngest sibling. When we care for people we love, we are constantly, silently saying “Thank You” for who they were when they, and we, were younger.
As others have said, we are sometimes surprised in the quiet moments (or sometimes the raucously funny ones) how very close our loved ones can reveal that they still are to us.
You can rejoice that the sweet gift from that dear little girl has brought your mother a gentle recognition of something she once knew and loved.
I always say that if my LO is having a “good” day when I arrive, I leave with tears in my eyes; if not, the tears when I leave are just the same.
Let yourself relax and enjoy your visits. Somewhere, on some level, you are sharing good news here, but also with the mom you love.
Your mom is NOT completely gone from you. I fully believe she's in there somewhere. I've watched my own mom go through all the early stages of Alzheimer's, and it has definitely impacted me emotionally. Now that my mom is in the later stages, and she doesn't always even remember my name, she still has a strong emotional response to seeing me. Even though your mom's physical abilities, including even being able to swallow, will continue to decline, the human brain is a remarkable thing: Even with the ravages of a disease like Alzheimer's, our brains have managed to protect the most important memories by storing them in places not even Alzheimer's can reach. I have to believe this or else I'd become "numb and tired."
Hugs to both you and your mom!
I visited the most extraordinary dementia wing one time. It was done in Victorian decor and there were all kinds of baby dolls displayed: a couple were on the couch, one would be sitting in a chair, etc. And it encouraged the residents to interact with the dolls and they did! Some residents picked up the dolls and carried them around, some sat beside a doll and made sure it was warm and tucked in, some talked to the dolls in a motherly voice. It was enchanting to see something so lovely amidst the ugly disease of dementia.
I also appreciate your wording: "Enchanting to see something so lovely amidst the ugly disease of dementia."
Indeed, watching Mom was enchanting.
Thanks, again.