Fun With the Nursing Home

Saturday morning, my phone rang. "Suzanne? This is R at the nursing home. Your Mom is flipping out." He told me she was out of bed and throwing items, and even tried to throw the TV.

Mom?
Seriously?
The woman who needed to be picked up to get out of bed is walking around and yelling?

I high tailed it over there and sure enough, she was in a state. They'd given her a shot of Ativan to calm her down, but she was still angry. Apparently, the current delusional episode is that they WON'T! GIVE! HER! THE! BABY!. Confused, I thought she was talking about the cat, Jiminy. She told me not to screw around with her, that I knew what she meant.

In her mind, a miscarriage from long ago resulted in THE BABY, and she wanted it. (None of us is clear on what baby she's talking about). If that were the only issue, I would probably just chalk it up to the dementia, but she was positively horrid to the staffers, Chef (who was with me) and me.

She said she'd heard THE BABY, she knew it was there, and the staff was hiding it from her. Today, she told Ed that they brought her THE BABY yesterday, but they took it away.

Color me confused.

The only thing I could come up with is that the last few times where she got this belligerent seemed to be right before she had the mini strokes. I mentioned that to the nurses, that perhaps they should keep an eye on her for that. When Ed went back today, he also spoke to the staff.

Apparently, her blood pressure was really low all while she seemed to have an adrenaline charge and Tasmanian Deviled around her room. Combined with what we suspect might be going on, the staff doctor wanted to send her to the hospital for testing.

I turned on my Flip before I walked in the nursing home on Saturday, because I didn't know what I would walk into. It was a good idea, because I have a record of the twenty minutes of weirdness that we witnessed.

Too bad I can't bring myself to listen to it. It hurts too much to see her so nasty and vicious to people who are trying to help her.

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