A Little Defiance Is Good

(Time Period: About a year after Mom moved into the smaller assisted living home with memory care.)

“These Are Strange”

“I ordered Grace the Alzheimer’s pajamas.”

“Okay,” I responded, “What are Alzheimer’s pajamas?”

Diana, the owner of Mom’s care home explained it to me. Mom had been removing all her clothes during the night (including her undergarments) and there had been a few accidents involving incontinence (to put it delicately). They actually make pajamas for just this situation. These are onesies, just like the feet pajamas kids wear, only without the feet and with a strategically hard-to-reach zipper in the back.

I instantly disliked the thought of them. The image of a straitjacket came to mind. We were removing Mom’s choice to take off her own clothes.

I tried to adapt my thought process. The material was soft and of the three colors they came in we had picked a pastel yellow. It’s not a straitjacket. It’s like what a baby would wear in a crib. It’s not a straitjacket.

Try as I did, I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. Not surprisingly, Mom didn’t like them either and even commented to Diana, “These are strange.”

Adapting

Strange as they were, Grace was fine wearing the new pajamas. Weeks went by and we ordered an extra pair so that one could be in the wash while she wore the other. I let go of my negative imagery and decided to relax about the pajamas.

Then, a surprise. One day as I was visiting Mom, Diana called me into the kitchen. With a raised eyebrow and a smile that conveyed amusement, she gave me the account. Upon entering her room that morning, Diana discovered that Mom had wriggled out of her pajamas – not an easy feat, especially when you consider that she was no longer able to stand or walk on her own. Furthermore, she had folded them neatly and placed them at the foot of the bed, as if to say: You can take these now. I’m done with them. I may have dementia but I know these pajamas are strange and I don’t care for them.

Grace wasn’t able to use her words but she had gotten her message across. All I could think was: Good for you, Mom!

Those strange pajamas had to go.

Savor the Small Victories

I called my sister Lori and we laughed and delighted in the story. Folded neatly. That was the part that was classic Mom, a signature move.

Seeing something that was characteristic of her was wonderful… and refreshing. It was much better than watching her eat seafood salad for lunch, which I had never seen her eat before now and which she would not have touched pre-dementia.

It was a little levity and our hearts sang. When those familiar glimmers appear of the personality you know, it’s such a great feeling. Mom is still in there. It was a little gift and a wink from Grace. Listen, I may have this stinking disease. But I’m still here.

Diana got a kick out of it, too.

Maybe this doesn’t sound like something to celebrate. After all it was just a sliver, a remnant of her personality. Why would I want to celebrate that? The thought of those pajamas or the mention of diapers can be disturbing. There is no sugar-coating those things. They’re part of dementia and Alzheimer’s.

Even though this amusing episode was tinged with the sadness of her condition, I categorized it as a victory. She may be compromised, but she’s got enough to tell me she knows the score. That day was a point for Mom.

Never underestimate Grace.