You can live with it, but you'll never really get it...

Today mom had a doctor's appointment.  Just a check-up.  Just something we do each and every month.  A 20 minute appointment that takes up 2 hours start to finish.

One of the ways mom deals with things that are different (even though we all know she professes to love a change of pace!) is to stall.  She will start and stop getting up to put a little lipstick on 6 or 7 times to ask a question, search for a tissue, plump a throw pillow or brush off the front of her sweater to delay the start of whatever it is we have to do that is different.  She doesn't remember where we are going or why, but she can challenge the most patient of souls with the stalling.

I know exactly what time we have to leave to make the drive, park the car, walk to the building, get to the office, fill out the paperwork and still be on time to her doctor.  I start the process of getting her in the car 35 minutes ahead of time - THAT'S how bad the stalling has gotten.  Today was no different.
It is a process.  It requires planning and all the right words.  I have to make sure and say aloud the answers to all of the questions I know she has as we put her coat on, as we leave the house, as we get into the car and especially as soon as we leave our neighborhood.

I want to understand her anxiety so I can better empathize with her.  But it is impossible.  I have been in lots of cars, headed lots of places, with lots of different people having no idea the route we need to take or the time it will take to get there ... and I never care.  I don't care what street we are on.  I don't care if I've been there before.  I only care how long it will take if I fear we are going to be late (and if there's a time limit - I prefer to drive!) or if I need to stop and use a restroom.  I don't agonize over anything.  I enjoy the ride.  Or the music.  Or the conversation.  I adore the concept of being in a vehicle that I don't have to feed or clean or help with it's homework.  I love a road trip - they rarely talk back.

From the moment we turn out of our neighborhood, mom starts mumbling about having no idea where we are.  She wonders aloud, although quietly, if she's been here before.  What she will do, is say things that make no sense at all - she will see a guy on a bike and say "I see him on that bike every time we come this way." or "There's that guy - what's his name?"  I have no idea who the bicycle rider is and I've never seen him before - or the truck or the lady walking her dog or the kids playing at the playground.  I want to understand these questions.  I want to know how those dots connect.  I know I never will, but I want to. 

It would make sense for her to ask about the school we pass that her granddaughter attends or even the playground with it's bright colors or the line of trees we pass that are sometimes covered in twinkly lights and sometimes covered in leaves and right now covered in thousands of tiny white buds.  Those things we see every time we drive anywhere - because I always go the same way - just in case it helps her feel more comfortable.  But the truck that is passing by or the bike rider or the dog walker - these are 'one and done' things.  What makes her ALZ brain fake recognize these people and then get her to say something out loud about remembering them?

I also want to understand how this woman who constantly wants to be entertained or doing something different from the ordinary can complain so loudly about having to wait 2 or 3 or 5 minutes in a doctor's waiting area?  There are plenty of people to watch and everyone is so friendly - seems like it would be a nice change of pace.

I want to know why she demands to know the name of every street we are on and why the exchange has to be "I don't have any idea where we are.  Do YOU?" and she turns up her nose at me.  What does that mean?  Does she think I am kidnapping her?  Does she think I might take her somewhere and drop her off?  Does she even know who I am?  And what difference would it make if she did know the name of the street?

And after all the anxiety of the trip - even with the play by play provided by me to keep her entertained and informed without having to ask the questions.  Even with a treat from Sonic.  Even with a great report from the doctor.  Even with all that - how can she 100%, totally forget that we went?  We walked in the door.  I helped her take off her coat.  I hung it up as she sat down.  And the trip was gone.  Vanished.  Done.  Poof!

I have been able to process the fact that she can't remember what day it is or if it's lunch or dinner.  But forgetting something that took us out of the house and into the presence of other people just can't break through the barrier of understanding that my brain has set up.

It's Twilight Zone.  It's unbelievable.  Not that I don't believe her - I do....but it's unbelievable to my brain.  It's so difficult to process that kind of memory loss.  I have happily forgotten every single thing I learned in Algebra, but I still have memories of being in class.  I struggle to remember if I've worn a certain favorite sweatshirt too recently to wear it again to the Pointe, but I could probably nail the info down if I HAD to.  But to forget something completely out of the norm in less than 2 minutes - it's so hard for me to get my arms around it.

So I live with it and probably should just accept it and stop wondering about things like this.  But I can't.  Maybe I think with better understanding will come more patience or the right words.  I'm beginning to think there are no right words.  There are only kind words and patient words and understanding words.  Words that help confirm whatever she is thinking and feeling.  Who cares if they aren't true?  Does it help to remind her that she's been to the doctor?  Nope.  It just frustrates her because it's clear she has no memory of it.  So that makes her forgetful or me a liar.  Sadly, she is quick to jump to the "me a liar" rationale since it is easier for her to process than her forgetting. 

Alzheimer's is always referred to a cruel - I always thought it was because you forgot the people you loved.  I think it's also because it makes you afraid and confused and frustrated all the time.  And even though I live with it every day, I can assure you that I still can't figure it out.  It's just too unbelievable to believe.