I stayed at Hospice tonight until Mitzi’s vitals were taken. This morning the big change was that her blood pressure was not strong enough for the machine to detect. Her feet and hands were cold all day. That’s what happens as the body pushes all the blood away from the extremities and towards the trunk, closest to the heart. But, by tonight, her numbers all looked pretty solid again and the heat returned to her feet and hands. Her breathing is still shallow but steady. And she is still peaceful. Gary gets to pick tonight between the not-so-comfy cot or the not-so-comfy reclining chair. The cot is maybe a hair more tolerable than the chair, but the chair allows you to sleep right next to the bed as long as you lower the rail. You can hear her breathing easier that way and you can reach over to hold her hand when you wake up in the middle of the night and are jarred awake from dreamland by the actuality of Mitzi basically being in a coma-like state in a bed at Hospice.
Occasionally today, she would move her feet and raise her eyebrows or even swallow. A first in many days. We know there’s nothing there to swallow because she’s on 2 different meds to dry up secretions. At times, we’d be watching her and I’d almost swear she was going to sit up and her face would light up while she bellowed out her signature “Hellllllooooooooo” in a voice reminiscent of Mrs. Doubtfire. But then my mind snaps back to the reality check that I won’t hear that again.
Gary has joked with me many times that I am The Rock because he never sees me cry. I texted him tonight and told him he should have seen me in Publix tonight on the snack food aisle when I had a flat out breakdown as I passed Mitzi’s favorite honey mustard pretzel pieces. Totally true. I’d love to view the security cameras to see the people around me as I fell apart over pretzel pieces.
After regaining my composure, it was the thoughtful woman bagging my groceries who got me next. “Are you having a good night tonight?” There were a multitude of raw, candid answers that I could have responded with, but her face was still frozen in the sweet smile she ended her chipper question with, so I took a deep breath, willed the sides of my mouth to curl up in a pleasant (read: totally forced) smile, and said it has definitely been a night. Absolutely no need in dumping my heartache on her. I had to chuckle at the familiar slogan I walked under to exit the store. I decided it should really say “Where Sobbing Is A Pleasure” tonight.
Most of Alzheimer’s is inevitably about subconsciously adding items to the List Of Things She Won’t Do Ever Again. A big part of my assignment with Mitzi, who is ever the optimist, was to not let her focus on the things going on that list but rather, to make a new list of Things She Can Do. Over time, you just get creative. At one time, “Dial My Phone Number” was on the Can Do list. As was “Tie Her Shoes” and “Walk 3 Miles Back Home.” Eventually, those types of things moved to the Won’t Ever Do Again list and they morphed into much more simplified versions on the Can Do List. “Talk On The Phone If I Put It On Speaker For Her” or “Wear Shoes Without Tripping” and “Walk For 3 Minutes Inside Her Home.” It’s all about adjusting constantly.
But tonight at Publix was a total gut-check. I didn’t leave after a day with Mitzi knowing we were on another decline in capabilities that would establish a new normal for our time together. We ran out of Decline cards. Tonight at Publix, staring at the Honey Mustard Pretzel Pieces that I would never buy again for her, I realized that the new normal was going to be life without my sidekick. And that pretty much broke The Rock…????
