Pancho and Lefty

In the world of Cowboy songs, Mom (Pancho) would be the bandit kicking up dust and causing trouble, but in her own western, it's that wild Lefty that rules the roost (relatively speaking).  

Like a disobedient teenager, her left hand has a mind of its own these days. In nearly every moment, she's gripping something, stroking something. The stimulation may bring her comfort, but more times than not, she's unaware of why she has something in her left hand. We make light of it by naming her waist strap "Stew or Stewie", changing the context of holding a strap to perhaps "holding Stew". In a "Lefty" popularity contest, Stew would win hands down (ba dum pish...pardon the pun). She loves holding Stew. She'll also holds tight her kleenex, which weakens the grip she needs for more important things, say holding onto the walker. Whatever the case, Lefty is nearly always up to something.

Last night, Jill bumped me and looked over at Mom. We got Diane's attention too. Now, I'll pause for the cause and mention that we are not schoolyard kids poking and pointing at someone who has clearly lost mental functioning. It's a devastating and sad thing to witness. The three of us looked at each other with a twinkle of that sadness in our eyes. It's our Mom and this is her brain miscommunicating with her body. But, last night, Lefty was holding her food. Noticing the potential for a big mess, we slowly moseyed into her own little western, and asked "whatcha got thar"? She smiled and responded, "pasta, an onion...food" and we all laughed. Whew--she was aware, and responding favorably. Diane said, "that hand has to 'Bob Dole' something," and removed the food to give Lefty a fork to hold. 

The night before, however, she was a bit more agitated. We were heading back to resume watching a movie after dinner, but were waiting on Mom to take her pills. The dining room area was empty save that of Mom--wheeled up in her wheelchair close to the table, left hand stretched out trying to grip something, and the right hand holding her drink. I watched as her left hand fingers flinched in effort to make the move to her mouth. She stared at her hand either in intense concentration or disbelief. I sat down beside her and talked her through it, trying to time words of encouragement with the flinch of her hand. Pretty quickly, she moved one pill to her mouth, and reached for the next. Another stalemate with Lefty. We waited patiently until another flinch. Success! Both pills went down.

We take so much for granted. Those activities that were once unconscious responses to life are now interrupting her life. We try not to make it a big deal or make her feel different, and try to help preserve her independence and dignity as best as we can. It is what it is, after all. But, from a distance, when you step back from the frontlines, it's another sad--"loss of..."-- detail to this process.

~E