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Gloves, Wipes and Bleach (My Mom’s Alzheimer’s)
Some things you can’t un-see and some things you can’t forget. And here’s the kicker, no matter how unpleasant, how disturbing, you don’t want to forget, because if you forget it may mean that you too are losing your mind.
I have avoided writing about the grosser aspects of caring for a person with Alzheimer’s dementia for the sake of preserving the dignity of my mother. On the other hand it would be disingenuous of me not to mention that as the disease progresses, caregiving takes on many unpleasant turns.
My mother was legendary for her fastidiousness when it came to cleanliness and, in particular, hygiene.
But each time I walk into the rest room and am greeted by sights and smells that require a strong stomach, I am reminded of two things:
- Never think you are so far above a problem that the weakness you see could never be yours; and
- No matter how bad it is now, it could always be worse, so suck it up, get over yourself and correct the issue at hand.
Whether the doctor requests you collect a stool sample or one is gifted to you late at night; whether it’s an unflushed toilet whose smell announces itself when you walk in the room, used toilet paper stashed in various parts of the room, refusals of showers, or meds held under the tongue and quietly spat into the toilet, issues of balance, body positioning, and strength, or numerous other moments of challenge or horror, caregiving is not for those lacking in patience, or the faint of heart.
In the moments of my mother’s most horrendous lapses in judgment and while I am having to keep her from making a bad situation worse, I am aware that although she stares vacantly while I don the gloves, grab the wipes and pour the bleach, the spirit inside her knows what is happening. I know because after I have cleaned up the mess and put away the bleach, she often quietly says,
“Thank you.”
And in that moment, I am glad I kept the frustration and horror I feel to myself.
Dixie Ann Black (DAB)
