“I’ve got a surprise for you. Did you leave room for dessert?” I smile at her and pull the small cooler over to me. I remove the plastic container with the two scoops of the mint chocolate chip ice cream Mom loves, and I grab a spoon off the meal tray.
I open the container and show it to Mom, and I swear her eyes light up for a second. When I scoop a small amount onto her spoon, and she takes a bite, a small smile forms on her face, and a moment of joy courses through me. A smile from her is one of my favorite things, but happens far too infrequently.
“Good,” Mom says, looking at me.
“You like it? I’m glad. It’s your favorite. You love ice cream, Mom.”
“Ice cream.”
“Yep, it’s ice cream. I’ll bring you more tomorrow. How about that?”
“Okay.”
I feed Mom the rest of the ice cream, then I rise and help her stand. When I do, I notice she has brownish-yellow stains from dried urine on her pants. I’m seething, but I fight not to let her see it.
I walk her back to her room, not bumping into any staff on the way. Who the hell is running this place today?
When we get to Mom’s room, I walk into the bathroom and pull the cord for the nurse call bell. I’ve learned during my visits here that the bathroom call lights ring with a sound that’s more urgent than the regular call bells. Not that you hear the chiming alerts all that often, given most of the patients here don’t understand how to use the buttons.
“How about we give you a nice warm shower and some clean clothes, then get you ready for bed?” She doesn’t respond to me. “You can watch Wheel of Fortune after that.”
Mom’s eyes brighten. Great, she remembers Pat Sajak, but not me. Still, the fact that my mom has always had a crush on the game show host makes me grin. God, she loved… she loves, not loved, that show. She’s still here. I hate when I catch myself speaking about her in the past tense.
So far, the only positive thing about this nursing facility is that they have a shower in the adjoining bathroom between rooms. Not that they use it, apparently.
I gather Mom’s toiletries and her bath seat and put them in the stall, then lead her into the shower, help her undress, and sit her on the seat. I take my time cleaning her, taking extra long to wash her hair when I see her shoulders and facial muscles relax as I massage shampoo into her scalp and her medium-length, wavy locks. I smile that I can do this for her.
As I wash her body, fury fills me when I find the raw, bright red skin on her groin and butt from sitting in urine. She winces as I clean the areas as gently as I’m able.
It isn’t until I’ve finished showering Mom—probably at least fifteen minutes from when I pulled the call bell—that there is a knock on the bathroom door and an aide enters. Her eyes widen when she sees me. I glance down at her name tag: Sylvia.
“Sylvia, I’m Delaney, Hattie’s daughter. I’d like to talk to the nurse, and I’d like a tube of whatever cream you apply when someone’s skin looks like this.” I point to my mom’s flaming red, excoriated skin.
“Uh, okay. I can get you some cream. I’ll have to call the nurse…”
I squint at her and can feel my forehead creasing in confusion.
“Call her? Where is she?”
“We’ve just got one nurse tonight. The other one called off. So, it’s just Shelly and me here on this side. The nurse is on the skilled unit. I can call her, though.”
I know Shelly. She’s an aide.
“So, there are two aides for this entire unit and no nurse?”
Sylvia’s eyes widen as if she realizes maybe she shouldn’t have shared that with a family member.
I sigh. “Please just get me the cream. Oh, and as of a bit ago, there are still two residents in the dining area who need taken care of. I’ll finish taking care of my mother.”
“Okay. I’ll be back with the cream in a minute.”
I get Mom’s pajama top on, then comb and plait her hair into two braids. Mom has always had gorgeous hair. At sixty-six, she’s still so beautiful. You would never guess she was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease at fifty-eight and a half by looking at her. One wouldn’t know that it’s so advanced now that, most days, she doesn’t remember anyone who loves her.
Yeah, looks can be deceiving. Talking to her, though, that’s a different story. When you try to have a conversation with her, it’s immediately clear that she has cognitive issues.
Sylvia returns while I’m cleaning Mom’s teeth and places a tube on the vanity, then leaves. I suspect this is the first time my mother’s teeth have been cleaned today. When we finish, I apply the cream to her skin and help Mom get her pull-up incontinence briefs and PJ bottoms on. It’s seven-fifteen p.m. now, so she’ll be ready to lie down for the night.
When we get to the bed, I look at the bedding, then sit Mom in the chair instead. Her sheets are stained and clearly not clean. There’s a strong ammonia smell as I strip the sheets. I have to assume there’s been a lot of peeing in this bed with Mom left to lie in it.
