The day after we moved her belongings into her side of the room, we had resolved to do what the staff had asked, and stay away from visiting; at least for a couple of days. It didn't take much longer than a few hours though, before my phone rang. It was mom. Before I was able to even finish my usual greeting, she started in.
"When you are coming to get me?"
"Where is this place?"
"This hotel is lousy"
"Why do I have to stay here?"
"I want to go back to my place"
"I need to go get my mail"
...and on she went. All before I could utter an answer to any of them. Finally, breaking into her long list of questions, I told her that we'd be in to see her "later".
She called me six more times during that day; she called my sister; she called my aunt; she called both of my daughters. Almost as many times as she called me. She repeatedly asked my daughter to "come pick me up from this hotel your mom left me in".
The third and fourth days were more of the same. I called the family services co-ordinator and asked
During that first week we scoured the furniture stores for a suitable chair and found a very nice little wing-back chair in a dark green velvet. It had a more delicate shape across the back and sides than the standard large wing-backs, and french provincial legs. The seat was well padded, but cushy, offering a comfy spot for her skinny bottom.
The fifth day we took her chair and a few other little things (a nice comforter and pillow for her bed, a small fluffy throw for sitting in the chair and some crispy crunch and kitkat chocolate bars). She wasn't in her room when we arrived, nor was she in the lounge. It wasn't meal time either, so we walked up the hall, and then back the other way and around a sharp corner to the other wing. There she was, at the end of the hallway looking out the tall windows, her handbag hanging from her arm.
Back in her room she was happy with the chair, and the throw, but she was happier still about the chocolate. In a way, that was unusual for her. All my life she was fairly careful about what she ate, and chocolate was a very limited treat because she thought it would make her "fat". It seemed that right now, she didn't care about getting fat, and of course, being so thin, it wouldn't hurt her at all to gain a little weight. When she left the hospital they did a standard chart with height, weight, blood pressure - all the usual stuff. As she entered the nursing the home, they redid the charts to make sure they were right. At that point, mom weighed less than 75 pounds (she was an average height at 5'5" tall) - she was little more than a skeleton covered with skin.
I spent most of the day with her, chatting, reading, watching TV, listening to her complain about her room mate, who I actually hadn't met until later that day. Mom seemed a little lost, except for those times when she was immersed in her TV programs. I hoped that she would adjust.
I also hoped that I would adjust.