So here I am again, sitting with Mom at the skilled nursing facility, having another conversation.
You never quite know where these conversations will go. Sometimes they're about her recovery, sometimes about what she wants to eat, and sometimes they take a few unexpected turns.
Today was no exception.
Wait, I Was There on Tuesday!
In a previous post, I mentioned that Mom told me I hadn't visited her in a week.
I reminded her that I had actually been there on Tuesday.
Then I remembered something else.
On that Tuesday visit, I handed her nurse, Coco, and her CNA, Heather, bottles of tequila I had picked up at the grocery store in Cozumel, Mexico, while on my cruise.
So, apparently, I wasn't just there. I was making deliveries!
I guess the tequila should have been a pretty memorable clue.
It's interesting how visit details can get lost or mixed up. I know institutional life can make the days blend together, but sometimes I wonder what Mom actually remembers.
The Story About Dotty
Then our conversation moved to her roommate, Dotty.
Mom started telling me that Dotty was dying.
Naturally, I asked how she knew.
Her explanation?
"Dotty isn't moving."
Well, that's quite a diagnosis.
Mom continued, explaining that Dotty would be at the skilled nursing facility forever. She also had plenty to say about Dotty's family, including that they didn't care about her.
There were other details and observations, too.
I listened, but I wasn't sure how much of what I was hearing was factual and how much was Mom's interpretation or imagination.
I told her something pretty straightforward:
I can't control what Dotty's family does.
I don't know their circumstances, their relationship with Dotty, or what's happening outside the facility. And neither does Mom necessarily.
There may be perfectly reasonable explanations for things she sees or doesn't see.
I don't want to turn every conversation into an investigation, but I also don't want to accept every story as fact.
Why Does Mom Make Things Up?
Here's where the conversation became a little more personal.
My mother tends to make things up.
Actually, calling it a tendency probably understates it. From my experience, it's something she does habitually.
I've noticed it over the years, and it can make conversations challenging because I sometimes find myself trying to figure out what's real, what's exaggerated, and what's been added along the way.
Today, I decided to ask her about it.
I tried to get to the root of why she does it.
First, I asked her whether she was trying to make me feel guilty.
After all, she had just reminded me that I supposedly hadn't visited in a week, even though I had been there Tuesday.
I wanted to know if there was some underlying reason for these stories or comments.
Her answer was no.
I explained that I don't feel guilty. I'm doing everything I can for her. In fact, I'm doing more than my best.
I'm visiting, advocating, researching assisted living facilities, dealing with financial arrangements, managing my own health, and trying to keep everything moving forward.
I can't manufacture more hours in the day.
I can't be in two places at once.
And I can't control everything that happens inside or outside the facility.
Then I asked another question.
Did she learn this behavior from her parents?
Again, she said no.
So much for my amateur attempt at family psychology!
I Hope I Don't Pick Up This Trait
The conversation left me thinking.
Why do people embellish stories? Why do they create narratives about other people? Is it attention? Is it a way of expressing frustration? Is it an attempt to make sense of circumstances they don't fully understand?
I don't have the answers.
And I certainly don't want to diagnose Mom based on conversations like these.
There could be several explanations, including changes in memory, perception, or cognition. Given everything she's been through medically, I think it's worth keeping an open mind rather than assuming every inaccurate statement is intentional.
Still, it can be frustrating.
Especially when I'm trying to have a straightforward conversation and suddenly find myself sorting through a collection of claims that may or may not be accurate.
And here's my biggest takeaway:
I hope I don't pick up this trait.
I already have enough going on without developing a habit of creating my own versions of events!
Another Day, Another Conversation
That's the thing about visiting Mom.
There are good moments, frustrating moments, funny moments, and conversations that leave me scratching my head.
I want her to recover as much as possible. I want her to have a good quality of life. I want to help her find the right living arrangement and make sure she has the resources she needs.
But I also have to recognize that I can't control everything she says, thinks, remembers, or believes.
I can listen.
I can ask questions.
I can clarify what I know.
And sometimes, I can simply change the subject.
And perhaps next time, I'll bring another bottle of tequila for Coco and Heather.
At least I know that part of Tuesday actually happened!
One thing is certain: life with Mom still provides plenty of material for the blog.
