Savoring

Cindy lies on our bed as I go through her range of motion therapy. First I bend and swivel her legs, then her arms. I do five reps for each of 12 exercises, counting each rep out as I do them. She involuntarily resists with stiffened joints; I counter by getting her to relax or laugh. While we are going through this routine my mind drifted to a memory I savored about another dementia patient, my mother.

The last six months of Mom’s life was spent in a nursing home. For the last few weeks in that nursing home her mind was not with us, with the one exception that forms the last memory of her I savor. She had been moved from her bed to a chair before I arrived with my young family. Noah, our oldest child at only 2 years old then, brought toy cars along and was playing near my mother’s feet. As he went “Vroom! Vroom!” with his cars I detected Mom’s blank gaze shifting down towards her grandson; a brief smile and moment of cognition appeared.

I am in a savoring phase these days. In recent posts I detailed how Cindy no longer can function physically. I once thought that would mean a death knell. I assumed that mental, emotional and social deterioration would happen at roughly the same pace as the physical. Yet Cindy continues to enjoy good company and laughter.

It’s good news that Cindy still can enjoy life. It’s even good news from a practical caregiver standpoint that her physical deterioration cannot change much further. Routines that continually changed due to the deterioration now are stabilized. Yet more deterioration must come in some form; there’s no reprieve from Alzheimer’s.

Cindy has four moods these days. Her happy mood still is most common.  Her sad mood occurs when she watches something tragic on television. Cindy’s agitated mood seldom occurs, but pops up when it appears nothing makes sense to her. The final mood is much like my mother’s during her last few weeks, best described as simply a lack of cognition. With little left of Cindy to ravage physically, her further deterioration will be with her mood, shifting ever steadily towards the lack of cognition I witnessed in my mother.

Cindy remains in good health. I do not know if this means she will pass away soon after her mind goes or if she will linger longer than the few weeks my Mom spent in a daze. Not knowing the answer to this, I savor.

I savor the range of movement exercises I do with Cindy now. When a physical therapist first showed them to me I resentfully thought: “Oh, great! Now I have to be her physical therapist?!” Changes to a routine always meets some resistance, but I know there won’t be many changes left. The exercises are an activity we are doing together, an activity that actually stimulates her cognition, so I savor them.

I savor each time I get her out of her “throne” throughout the day to “dance” with her. Maybe this routine will last until she passes away. Indeed, maybe this is the one routine that will keep her from slipping into a permanent lack of cognition, so I savor each “dance.”

Most of all I savor each smile I draw from her. Ah, the famous Cindy smile. I no longer see that smile when she first wakes up in the morning. Usually some effort is required now to bring out that smile, but the reward is great. If I am fortunate maybe that will be the last brain function to go on Cindy. Hopefully the image of her smile will never leave my mind but, just to be sure, I savor.