Memory Care Here I Come

The day arrived as any other day would. It's summer. Beautiful blue sky, warm temps. It's July. Or is it August. What day is it? What city are we in? What planet do we live on? That last question was posed to my mom. Her answer....the United States. So it is with Stage 6-7 Dementia. That flavor of Alzheimer's that hits you hard. And takes away the only thing that makes up your life: memories.

It's been about 5 years to the month since I first started this blog. Hell, I forgot to post many of the most important stories. But today is a big day. I'm moving Mom to the memory care area at Harbour Village in Glendale, Wisconsin. I can honestly say I don't think she'll live 5 more years.

My mother-in-law stayed at Harbour House, which is the quaint name for memory care at Harbour Village. I think it's one of the best in our area. With an entry price of $4900 per month, I believe it's reasonable. I didn't shop around. I heard what many others are paying. Just the other day a friend of mine said his mother is in a place in Chicago at a whopping $10,000 per month! Now, she needs advanced medical services too, which are extra, no matter where you go. At Harbour my mom's bill will be $500 extra per month for medical services. But at what price, life? For our family, we have the money to go the distance, whether that's good or bad, I don't know.

When you see some of the residents, I'd say it's not living; it's existing. Waiting to die. Many don't even know it. Their brains are so deteriorated from the disease they don't even have the cognitive reasoning to know they're dying. But hey, let's spend thousands of dollars a month so we can watch you wither away in front of our eyes. Because that's the right thing to do? Memory care. If you have no memory, what are they caring for? The more I write, the more it makes me wonder what the hell am I doing?

I asked my mom what she would want me to do if she reached the advanced stages of dementia. She said, "Kill me." And while I agree it could be a merciful thing to do, I have to let God make that decision. Plus, would I have the balls to actually do it? Her suffering isn't that great, yet.

A friend of mine, his wife and I moved my mom out of her two bedroom apartment into the "room". It's a studio, with a toilet room, a closet and a window. The exit doors are locked. Code access only with assist from the staff. Family does not get the code. Residents don't get to go outside unassisted. The courtyard is fenced, with no gates. It's kinda like a fancy prison. With Dementia as the warden. You don't even need to misbehave to receive more quarantine punishment. The disease will take care of that all by itself.

So, we're all situated now. New mattress pad to soak up the pee. Smaller bed. 1/10 of your clothes. Memories will be made at your new home, Mom. The finality of it all hits you: This is where you will die. Call it cruel or morbid thinking. But it's true.