Accepting a New Normal Janice M. Thew and C. Noelle Driver Janice We had just returned from celebrating Thanksgiving at Mom's house when she called to accuse my husband and son of stealing her car's hubcaps. Bewildered to have Mom make such absurd accusations of the son-in-law and grandchild she adored, I argued the ridiculousness of her claim. She added that she also saw my daughter (Noelle) sneaking around her bedroom, looking to steal her jewelry! I was stunned by the uncharacteristic nature of this phone call. Shaken and, to be honest, angry, I relayed this incident and other recent hallucinogenic episodes to my cousin, a nurse, who asked if Mom had ever been evaluated for dementia. I took Mom to a neurologist and she was diagnosed with Alzheimer Disease. Though a little anxious about this, especially given the long driving distance between us, one brief conversation about the diagnosis and a pamphlet of resources was minimally helpful in understanding what was ahead. I had no comprehension of the disease course and a complete lack of preparation for how rapidly we would have to face life-altering decisions, how [End Page 121] rapidly Mom's mind would deteriorate, nor how quickly she would become unsafe in her own home. What behaviors might have been casually attributed to natural aging before this, now seemed to accelerate with concern for Mom's poor judgments when operating her car, misplacing her keys, and forgetting how to get home from the mall. I ignored the need to move more quickly until she called 911 for the second time in two weeks for no apparent reason. I planned no change in her living arrangements until the ER doctor refused to discharge her unless we took her directly to a nearby assisted-living facility. As my understanding of the disease evolved and it became clearer that her strange behaviors were attributable to it, I subsequently learned from her neighbors, hairdresser, and dentist of other bizarre antics and phone calls, which began around the time of that Thanksgiving hallucinogenic episode. Fortunately, she had not caused harm to herself or others before we finally took action. Over the next few months, and after 30 years as a self-sufficient, independent, and hard-working widow, Mom's inability to take care of herself and her home became obvious, putting her safety at risk. So began the long, hard period of transition for Mom and me, reversing roles of parent and child, making hard decisions about her home, and overall, her life, almost always without her consent. By the following Easter, we had moved Mom to assistedliving, sold her home, and disbursed most of her belongings. While I was still working and managing a family with two active children, now and for the next five years, I added the responsibility of managing my Mom's life. Mainly, I tended to her well-being and bore anxiety over the quality of care she received by others. I lived 70 miles from Mom, not close enough for short check-ins on the way to or from work, frequent visits, or nearby doctor appointments. Each trip to her assisted-living home for a doctor appointment or a visit to replenish clean laundry or meet with her care coordinator required time away from work and family, at least one day per week, and often on weekends. There were also phone calls with her several times throughout each day. Mom's emergency trips to the hospital were even more difficult since they required my immediate attendance. She exhibited declining comprehension of medical questions asked of her, and I needed to correctly provide information to assist her in receiving appropriate medical care. She was also bewildered outside of her familiar environment, and I often had to defuse her unruly or uncooperative behavior that generated poor responses from her healthcare teams. I grew quite resentful of the whole situation despite having the most supportive and involved husband during this time. The resentment often spilled into short-temperedness, intolerance, and anger with Mom's repetitive questions, multiple daily phone calls, and occasional notification from the assisted-living staff. I was angry as I saw...