Mom's transfer to the West Orange facility supposedly guaranteed her better dementia care, but it turns out that the sib was bamboozled into accepting this as fact. It was dementia unit in name only. I pleaded with the nurse assistant at the Somerset nursing home to spend some time each week with mom. She agrees and reports that the unit's decor is dreary. Within 10 days of her transfer, the facility reports that my mom can't control herself--that she reaches out and touches other patients. Duh. Isn't this expected of dementia patients. Besides I know plenty of "normal" people who do the same.
The nursing home sends her to a hospital, and when I speak to the charge nurse there she tells me that patients are often sent there if the nursing home deems they may be a danger to themselves or others. The nurse assistant I hired visits mom at the hospital and reports that ironically she is getting better care there than at the West Orange facility. But they cannot keep her there indefinitely. Once they determine that she's not a danger to anyone, they transport her back to West Orange.
A few days later I get a panicky, weepy telephone call from the nurse assistant. My mom has taken a turn for the worse. She is having trouble breathing. I know that Mom is on the last leg of her journey, exacerbated by the change in environment. The one thing my sib and I agree on is the DNR directive; do not resuscitate. We don't have to use this medical directive because my Mom takes her graceful exit at night. In the early hours of the morning (Arizona time) my sib calls to tell me Mom has passed. I'm so nervous and angry that I make her repeat it. She obliges and switches to a new "command." What does she want now? Total control of the afterlife? I need to tell her right now if I want a few minutes to eulogize Mom. I'm no funeral maven, but by the sound of her question, the OCS is going to speak. So I figure I can match her sentence for sentence.
At the funeral home, the OCS and her husband greet me. This funeral has already been paid for and orchestrated by my sister, who actually called several months ago to give me a point by point detailing of casket, lining, etc. I really didn't want to know those details, but I figured she would be angry if I cut her off. And, she was obviously so proud of her accomplishment, how could I deny her the opportunity to remind me how clever she was. The service was pushed along by the funeral rep--the signal was closing the casket. When the former nurse assistant entered a bit late, I had to beg the funeral rep to open the casket again. Like a well-trained dog, she reminded me that another funeral would take place right after mine, and so she had to keep to a tight schedule. I restrained myself from spitting in her face. However she did agree to open the casket for a nanosecond before my mom was placed into the limousine.
A rabbi who didn't know me or Mom--and probably my sister--officiated, and then my sister stood to make her eulogy. I don't know what I expected her to say, but it wasn't the wailing I might have imagined. She read her speech, which went something like this: "I gradually did not recognize this person in my mother's clothes because nothing of her personality remained intact. Day after day the burden of her illness weighed on me, and I suffered due to our deteriorating relationship and the obstacles that I had to face."
Naturally the eulogy was a "me" piece. It was a good thing Mom wasn't able to hear that dishwasher drivel of a send-off or she might have whispered in a loud voice (which she was fond of doing) to "move this event on so I can finally get some peace and quiet."
The rest of the funeral--the burial part--went off like clockwork, and as is customary in the Jewish religion, everyone shoveled a load of dirt onto the casket before they took off. Since I was feeling pretty atheistic that morning I ignored the custom and took off in my PT mini cruiser (which I'd rented for the solemn occasion) to the Motel Six where I was staying. I couldn't face that OCS patting herself on the back any more.
Next chapter: I finally discover the real reason behind my OCS sib's officious behavior. Why is it always money?
The nursing home sends her to a hospital, and when I speak to the charge nurse there she tells me that patients are often sent there if the nursing home deems they may be a danger to themselves or others. The nurse assistant I hired visits mom at the hospital and reports that ironically she is getting better care there than at the West Orange facility. But they cannot keep her there indefinitely. Once they determine that she's not a danger to anyone, they transport her back to West Orange.
A few days later I get a panicky, weepy telephone call from the nurse assistant. My mom has taken a turn for the worse. She is having trouble breathing. I know that Mom is on the last leg of her journey, exacerbated by the change in environment. The one thing my sib and I agree on is the DNR directive; do not resuscitate. We don't have to use this medical directive because my Mom takes her graceful exit at night. In the early hours of the morning (Arizona time) my sib calls to tell me Mom has passed. I'm so nervous and angry that I make her repeat it. She obliges and switches to a new "command." What does she want now? Total control of the afterlife? I need to tell her right now if I want a few minutes to eulogize Mom. I'm no funeral maven, but by the sound of her question, the OCS is going to speak. So I figure I can match her sentence for sentence.
At the funeral home, the OCS and her husband greet me. This funeral has already been paid for and orchestrated by my sister, who actually called several months ago to give me a point by point detailing of casket, lining, etc. I really didn't want to know those details, but I figured she would be angry if I cut her off. And, she was obviously so proud of her accomplishment, how could I deny her the opportunity to remind me how clever she was. The service was pushed along by the funeral rep--the signal was closing the casket. When the former nurse assistant entered a bit late, I had to beg the funeral rep to open the casket again. Like a well-trained dog, she reminded me that another funeral would take place right after mine, and so she had to keep to a tight schedule. I restrained myself from spitting in her face. However she did agree to open the casket for a nanosecond before my mom was placed into the limousine.
A rabbi who didn't know me or Mom--and probably my sister--officiated, and then my sister stood to make her eulogy. I don't know what I expected her to say, but it wasn't the wailing I might have imagined. She read her speech, which went something like this: "I gradually did not recognize this person in my mother's clothes because nothing of her personality remained intact. Day after day the burden of her illness weighed on me, and I suffered due to our deteriorating relationship and the obstacles that I had to face."
Naturally the eulogy was a "me" piece. It was a good thing Mom wasn't able to hear that dishwasher drivel of a send-off or she might have whispered in a loud voice (which she was fond of doing) to "move this event on so I can finally get some peace and quiet."
The rest of the funeral--the burial part--went off like clockwork, and as is customary in the Jewish religion, everyone shoveled a load of dirt onto the casket before they took off. Since I was feeling pretty atheistic that morning I ignored the custom and took off in my PT mini cruiser (which I'd rented for the solemn occasion) to the Motel Six where I was staying. I couldn't face that OCS patting herself on the back any more.
Next chapter: I finally discover the real reason behind my OCS sib's officious behavior. Why is it always money?
Comments