DOPE
Dear Diary,
I don’t get it. No matter how many times I give my little motivational speech of “you’re a leader.. NOT a follower” to my MIL Ru (dementia) it ZPPPPT (swipes top of head) goes right over the top. You know.. to ENCOURAGE her to exert her independence and free thinking abilities over being one of these people (pffft.. pick one) who just takes words said to them by some random “friend” completely BLINDLY. Let me tell YOU— Then Ru finds herself waiting for HOURS on that nasty well CURED (for lack of a better word) bench in the hallway of ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) across from the fish tank, waiting for someones SISTER to come and pick her and her BFF “what’s her name” up and drive them to Cuba.. and she wonders WHY.
CUBA my ass. Think about it Ru.. did it ever OCCUR to you where Blanche would GET hold of a passport so fast when it took me THREE months to get mine? I didn’t THINK so.
Instead of embracing my message the first time I utter it, with all the other really AWESOME and important keepers.. and please don’t get me wrong. TOTALLY impressive is her product knowledge on anything Chanel Ready-to-Wear. Ru kind of lackadaisically lets it go in one ear— where it then gets unceremoniously CHUCKED it into the short-term memory bank waste receptacle.. never to be heard from again. Until the opportunity arises ONCE more (as it always does) and I find myself digging around for any shreds left (and there NEVER are) before launching in again.
This is what I’m sayin’— so when you look at me granny and say you THINK you want to start drinking coffee.. because “all the other girls are doing it” I have to scratch my head (because my crappy dandruff is acting up) and ask you, “If the OTHER girls jumped of a cliff would YOU?” To which you flippantly reply,
“Sure. Why not?”
“Ohhhhh K. Let’s try another one. If the whole dementia floor was to start smoking POT.. would YOU do it too?”
Yeah. I’ve sooo got this one. I’m going to nail her now and do a convincing closing argument. Nothing too PREECHY but I’ll get my point across and make SURE this time it sticks. Maybe.. I’ll even throw in a small r-e-w-a-r-d.. some sort of bauble. One can never have too many stretchy bracelets with plastic real looking QUARTZ thingy’s on them. THAT otta cinch the deal.. you mark my words she’ll remember EVERYTHING this time.
“I’ve smoked pot.”
The trick here is to not over react or you’re going to lose the fact gathering momentum that you now have the opportunity to enjoy and are SALIVATING for at this VERY instant. Because in your state of deep profound SHOCK and absolute inner HYSTERIA.. if you dare let it show.. even, say for one split second the whole thing will vanish before your eyes. POOF. All gone.. YOU’RE screwed.
Because I possess huge amounts of RESTRAINT, I’m able to suppress the snorts coming out of BOTH my nostrils and blink back tears that have begun their slow descent out my eyeholes. It’s a bit harder (and don’t PRETEND to not know what I’m talking about GIRLS) to stop the bladder leakage that has commenced without doing THE DANCE. Not that Ru would notice.
“Should we find you a bush or can you wait till we get home?”
DRAT. The best I can do right now while regaining composure is to PRAY my little theatrics haven’t taken her to a different place and time. Because in all honesty I don’t think I would EVEH forgive myself.
“Ru? Ummmm. You smoked (voice goes down a decibel) POT?”
“No. Never.”
Oh come ONNNNNNN. Geezusssss. It was just one little pee pee dance. I beg you..don’t leave me hanging.
“Oh really.. because I just thought you said that you smoked?”
“Nawwwww. You must be confused. Never TOUCHED the stuff myself.”
Yeah. That’s it..I’m sure you’re right. I must BE c-o-n-f-u-s-e-d. I must be standing here talking to somebody else all of a SUDDEN that looks just like you but in fact IS. NOT. I’m not letting this go because it is ahhhhhhh.. too good. Too freakin’ good. I need this. I NEED this morsel like a super model needs a good airbrush. Just this once Ru. I promise to be good and not ask for anything else (except your UGGS) ever again. Well.. maybe also I might ask for your Liz handbag..but that would be all.
What about INHALE?
(shakes head from side to side)
Brownies?
“YES”
AHHHH HAAAA!
Since I’m “HUNGRY”.. Ru reaches in her coat pocket to pull out a little delightful chocolate something from last nights dinner, wrapped up tightly in a stolen polyester napkin. Seems it was being saving just for this sort of emergency. You know, in CASE we should ever be out somewhere together and I should come down with a ferocious case of the munchies and need to be saved by a smooshed chocolate Figgy Pudding, minus (peering closely) the custard sauce on top. Always thinking (something awesome) that granny.
My Sandwich Generation friends.. it may be difficult to gauge what is indeed FACT and what is pure SHWANKY bubbling up from the depths of your seniors past impressions. I urge you to NOT take everything that comes up.. to heart without FIRST doing some INVESTIGATING. There are going to be those times (with dementia or without) that your seniors’ words uttered.. are JUST that. Words. Mixed up feelings and thoughts that went through a huge ordeal before they even MADE it out the mouth. RESIST the urge to overreact and calmly (as if) piece together any possible story scoop that might be there. Then have a field day with the truth. The DOPE doesn’t come any better then this.
INHALE.
EXHALE.
-A
Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.
