After having received the twenty-four hour care verdict from the Care Manager: one person, live-in, I called for an appeal. I still felt that there should be two-twelve hour aides. I was told a live-in aide needs her own room. How could that work with my mother in a studio? I was worried about losing the two women who were working now. I was fearful of their possibly contracting the virus. I was anxious about of how they would deal with my mother who insists on living in the dark and who seems to wander between two worlds. I was apprehensive that the women would get no sleep. I had a bad case of the what-if’s. And then I called Sandra.

She is the building social worker who had been out on quarantine; her mother has dementia and she has been advocating and fighting for her for years. “Sandra,” I said, I have so many factors to consider, and I don’t know how to solve this puzzle.”

So we hashed it out. And she said, “be glad you got the 24/7 live-in care. No one is getting two-twelve hour shifts at this time.” And with that the stress began to dissipate and the worry about the aides dealing with my mother was gone. I let it out of my hands. We solved the aides’ personal space issue with the idea of getting a screen. This was acceptable to the managed care coordinator, it’s what people do.

There are so many aides living in my mother’s building in a studio and they make it work. I have a daybed in the room just for this purpose. The battle was won.

I was looking at the situation all wrong: it was easy to do in these times of worry. My mother at 102 years, had so far, beaten the corona virus, was still spunky—maybe a little too spunky—was back home in her digs, was comfortable and seemingly happy, was beginning to eat, getting into her talkative groove again. Most of all she was glad someone was with her in the night. 

But, the problem to me was the loss of the most competent aide. She has a family. She said her husband would never allow her living out.

That was a stressor, starting with another new person, someone who most likely had no experience with my mother and what was happening. Someone who could say, “Covid patient—are you kidding?”

But then today came. I had a list of people to call. I had made my decision to take the offer and then I got the best news: the aide who I thought was going to be without a job was taking it. Her family gave the OK. We were a go: the two current aides were going to split the week and continue working. These two people were all I wanted to maintain the continuity and now there was also familiarity.

It worked. In these strange times, where everyday has been an adventure on this earth that has been crying in pain and asking for change, a calm I hadn’t felt in a while came over me. Everything suddenly felt like it was in its right place, in the appropriate order. It all fit.

And, all I had to do was be open and change my way of thinking.

The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

The previous post is here

The next post is here