Decline & Fall

Navigating the unknown territory of your ageing parent's decline

It’s now six weeks since my 86 yr old mother fell in the night.  Six weeks of daily questions, worries and requests (and repeated questions and worries).  Most of these come in the form of whatsapps, phone calls, and mistakenly made face-times. The fright of seeing a frowning, haggard-looking face staring at you first thing in the morning is something that I don’t recommend - and that’s me, not my mother!  

These messages pepper my days and occasional nights, arriving at any hour of the day. 

It’s not that my mother is demanding or has dementia, nor that I don’t want to take these calls or messages.  She is one of the loveliest, most considerate and long-suffering women I know.  Having endured a lifetime of physical and emotional hardship, she has borne it with incredible courage and fortitude. ‘Extraordinary’ is the word most frequently used by anyone who knows her.

What is challenging is the not knowing: not knowing how long she’ll be in pain for, what medication will work, or frankly, what to do.  And, most importantly, when she’ll next fall. 

According to the wonderful paramedics who picked her up off her bedroom carpet in the small hours, she didn’t break anything.  Having lain there for an hour in her nightie after calling 999 on her mobile phone (her panic button not working) they checked her out, made sure she was comfortable and referred her to the Falls team.

Being the stoic my mother is, she barely complained to me the next day about the undignified midnight lying-in-wait on her bedroom floor.  It was the resulting pain in her lower bottom that she was worried about.  She knew it wasn’t a broken pelvis having broken hers 7 years ago, causing a level of agony (and a 3 week hospital stay) that she knew wasn’t this.

The doctors and physio have diagnosed muscle spasm, with possible nerve damage.  My mother is no stranger to nerve pain having suffered sciatica most of her adult life after a serious car accident she was in in 1985 (more on that in another post).  We both know all too well how confounding a condition nerve pain is with no predictable end point.

And so over the past six weeks she has been put on various types of pain relief, culminating in morphine which, of course, makes her sleepy and confused during the day.  Living alone, this presents a whole other level of risk in my mind, and so I’ve increased her carer hours.  She’s fortunate to be able to afford private care.

But I’m watching her decline, and rapidly.

Confusion is setting in.  Her patience with her carer when she comes late is wearing thin. She can’t remember her passwords and her crippled hand (from the accident) has deteriorated so much that she can’t even use the shift key.

My mother’s hands, beautifully captured in a pastel painting by my daughter. Find her on Instagram @ciarakateillustrates

My gut feeling is she needs respite care in a care home.  I tried suggesting this a few weeks ago but after a visit to one care home, she decided against, not feeling up to the upheaval of the move for just 2 weeks. 

I respected that decision, of course. She is the one in pain, she knows what she can and cannot cope with. But I am caught between wanting what I perceive she will need and giving her the freedom to make her own decision. 

I worry that she might agree purely because she doesn’t want to be a burden: she is aware that she isn’t always making sense, and regularly interrupts my day, something that makes this whole process so much more painful.

I’m in unknown territory.  

I only have a twin brother to consult on this, who lives an hour away and so can’t see her decline. He is as new to this as I am. My other brother isn’t able to help me with decision-making for a different reason (another post!)

And this is the nub of it.  Guessing at the trajectory of my mother’s decline has been my daily rumination these past weeks, probably months if I can bring myself to admit it.  For someone with such poor balance and chronic pain owing to they serious spinal injuries she suffered, she is a much ‘older’ 86 year old than your average woman of a mature age.  

But it seems like her body is finally giving way.  And possibly her mind too. 

It is so hard watching my elegant, sharp minded and capable mother deteriorate like this.  

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