Obligatory recap:
When my mum first came here - at the end of June 2018 - after a nine and a half week stay in hospital I very much thought she was coming here to die. In all honesty we hadn't been at all convinced she would even get out of hospital.
Before her stroke my mum, then 73, was getting visibly frailer. She was greyer, more wrinkled, shrinking. The day before I had actually sobbed on my daughter's shoulder that I didn't think we'd have her for much longer.
That said, she was still living independently, driving considerable distances although she spent more of her time at her partner's house than her own flat for sheer convenience.
Her stroke was described as 'severe'. There's no classification system like stages of cancer that allow you to understand where your loved one is on a broad spectrum that ranges from quick recovery at one end to things such as permanent paralysis, coma and death at the other.
My mum went from moderately healthy and active (type 2 diabetes and advancing age) to completely dependent. And it was a massive shock to us.
Her father had suffered a large stroke when I was a kid. We all agreed his quality of life had been crap yet somehow he lived another 16 or so years. Mum's situation was so much worse it was no wonder we expected her to go imminently.
Anyway, that first year she was home I felt like I was on tenterhooks. Every time she nodded off in front of the TV I'd check she was still breathing. If I woke up before her I'd be terrified she'd died in the night. NOT, I might add, because I am *scared* of her dying so much as it's a new experience I know will be very unpleasant.
I know I've blogged about all this before so I've tried to be concise.
We've recently passed the 2.5 years mark since her stroke and we're also just past the 2 years 4 months since she came to live out her days in the care of her only child - muggins here. And the pressing thing is... how wrong I was back then.
Not only did was she clearly NOT on her last legs, as evidenced by her continued survival, but - and this is the bit I'm especially struggling with - SHE WASN'T ACTUALLY THAT BAD.
Badness is a thing you can only appreciate by contrast. Mid 2018 was BAD. I did not make a bad call in declaring it bad. It was absolutely the most horrific experience... until you experience WORSE.
Worse is decidedly where we are now and I have an uncomfortable awareness that further degrees of badness are both possible and probable.
When my mum first came here she was so catastrophically not the person she had been that it was difficult to see the blessings. With hindsight, and loss, they're clearer. That's where I'm at now - realising how much more of her we've lost, especially since what was probably another big stroke right at the start of lockdown.
Memory - she remembered lots of past things although she had an unfortunate mental block on her partner's name.
Her memory is far worse now. She blanks lots of things, and far more names. She rarely reminisces.
Personality - back then she was still pretty much herself.
Now her principal remaining characteristic is a stubborn streak a mile wide.
Intelligence - my mum's never had an IQ test and her parents made her leave school at 16 but she's a seriously smart lady. There's something kind of hilarious about a stroke survivor who can't remember the name of her partner but can spell obscure words, correct grammar and yell abuse at someone misusing French on TV.
Some of it's still in there but we see less and less of it. She still uses some rather impressive words at times.
Speech - we adjusted to the new sound of her voice quite slowly.
She just passed her 76th birthday (whodathunkit?!) and she had three phone calls - each person said how good her speech was... yeah, it's not like that real world. Her speech is very difficult to understand now, even though I'm with her full-time I struggle. I've started her on drink thickener too which is indicative of deterioration. Gotta try to persuade our not-so-with-it GP to put it on her prescription next.
Mobility - it didn't bother me seeing my mum using a walking frame. I was all in favour for the stability, as was she. The hospital physios had wanted her to try for sticks but my mum has ALWAYS been pro-frame. She first used one in her 50s when she suffered a broken ankle & DVT. Safety was always a higher priority to her than appearances. She would walk to the loo on her own... from the living room. She would get up to the loo on her own in the night.
She can't get up from a chair without assistance now, let alone out of bed. It must be a good year and a half since she went to the loo on her own and forget walking the length of the house! These days she never moves anywhere without at least one person HANDS ON.
She used to come and sit in the living room to watch TV although it drove me nuts that I was expected to watch endless Midsummer Murders repeats when I don't even enjoy watching TV; now she hardly leaves her room... which at least means I can get stuff done from time to time. She sleeps a LOT more.
Old age is not beautiful. It is grim.
