Page 65 of The Deals We Make
Melanie smiles. “I started work in hospitals, dealing with patients at the end of their lives or dealing with the emotional complexities that come from terminal illness. Everything in those scenarios is incredibly sterile and violating. The testing, the treatments. I always thought there was a better way to help someone figure out how to live while they were dying. Not that this is the situation with your mom. With her, I think many of the techniques I use will actually improve things.”
My phone vibrates on the table in front of me, and out of habit, I glance down at it. I only catch the first few words before I turn my phone off.
One day you’ll regret being born, bitch because…
I swallow deeply and try to relax the immediate tightening through my whole body. “Sorry. Can you give me an example of that?”
Melanie places her coffee cup on the table. “Of course. There are a number of things patients can do to help manage the progression of dementia. For example, with me assisting her making her meals and ensuring she eats, we can work to make sure she manages her blood sugar, controls her blood pressure, and maintains a healthy weight, which will reduce the overall strain on her body. I can help her take regular exercise to ensure she’s heart-strong to deal with the testing and medication she may end up using. We can come up with hobbies and daily activities to make sure she stays mentally active. Things like puzzles, counted-cross stitch, and crosswords are proven to help with strengthening mental acuity. I’ll make sure she has a daily program, and we can work with her doctor to make sure nutrition or medication guidelines are adhered to.”
These are all the things Dr. Jacobs suggested as helpful, even without diagnosis. There is no delete button with dementia. If that is the path Mom is on, we can’t take her off it. But it is possible to slow things down. And I find myself craving that so badly for the purely selfish reason of trying to extend the time I have to salvage what I can of our relationship. “That all sounds really helpful. Would you be open to sharing that plan with me on a weekly basis, one week ahead, just while we find our feet working together?”
“Of course. And I’ll happily send you a report at the end of each week to let you know what we accomplished, any positives, and any changes I think you or her medical team should be aware of. Are you local? Will you be around?”
Shame ripples through me before I answer. It’s cold and fills me with discomfort. “Unfortunately, I own and run a large company in California. In the immediate term, I can’t change that. I’m not even sure if I can in the long-term.”
Melanie’s eyes fill with understanding, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to split yourself into pieces to take care of every part of your life.”
Her words give me the comfort that she is the right pick and will understand why I’m not there. I arranged the interviews in an office because I didn’t want strangers knowing Mom’s address, given she is in a vulnerable position. “I’d love for you to come to the house and meet Mom, get a feel for what you’ll be working with. I’ll be honest with you; Mom and I have been estranged for a long time. When I returned home recently, I found her very deteriorated. And she’d been hoarding. I’ve gutted the house with her. We’ve hired professional cleaners to come in and do a two-day intensive clean now that we’ve gotten rid of much of the junk.”
Melanie leans forward. “May I put my hand on your knee?”
“Umm…sure.”
She does what she said. “Calista. It’s okay.”
“What?”
“I hear what you’re not saying. I hear a daughter who, for whatever reason, hasn’t had contact with a parent. And a daughter who is now trying her absolute hardest to do her best for her mother. I would love to visit your mom with you.”
I swallow, then suck the inside of my cheek between my teeth and clamp down hard. The pain staves off the tears.
“When would work for you?” I ask.
“There’s no time like the present. My car is just around the corner, and I can follow you there.”
It takes fifteen minutes for us to reach the house. When I get there, Mom is sitting on the sofa, watching another reality TV judge show. Something to do with a woman wanting money from some guy who persuaded her to take out a car loan for him, then split with her and disappeared with the car.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
“Shh,” she replies.
“Mom, we have?—”
“It’s okay,” Melanie says. “I can sit with her until the end of her show.”
So, we do. The three of us. An odd assortment of individuals thrown together. I actually find some escapist peace in watching the dickhead guy get lumbered with having to pay the woman back.
As soon as the titles appear on the screen, I grab the remote and turn it off. “Mom, this is Melanie. She’s going to be living here with you to help you out, like we talked about.”
My mom’s brow furrows. “We talked about this? I don’t remember.”
I recall what the doctor said. None of this is her fault. All I can do is respond with patience. “That must be confusing for you, Mom. I’m so sorry. Let me try again. The doctor saidthis morning that there’s a way to help manage some of the symptoms you are experiencing with effort. Good meals, mental stimulation, physical exercise.”
Mom looks at me. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I live in California.” I withhold the wordrememberfrom the end of the sentence. Apparently, that isn’t overly helpful to someone who is confused.
She falls silent after that.
