Jun. 8th, 2013

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I got the official call from Sunbury Village that they could no longer handle mom on Tuesday morning; the word "ridiculous" was deployed on their end to describe her shenanigans, which had gotten to the point of other dementia-afflicted residents calling the office to say that the lady from 335 was in their kitchen again. I remote-directed Ricky and Peter to move her to Winterberry on Thursday. Winterberry is Sunbury's neighbor, and provides more active assisted-living and memory-care services for more far-gone oldsters. (They used to be the same facility, and I have to imagine that the respective naming is intentional.) Apparently she gave them a grand send-off by shuffling around the building pulling emergency alarms before being escorted into the new place.

I have done my best to build on past experience and provide complete transparency to Winterberry about mother, her backstory, her behavioral problems, and Ricky's involvement. I described how mom's dementia and Ricky's disorders were a volatile mix, which resulted in bizarre scenes that would surprise and alarm Sunbury's staff. The Winterberry staff I've been speaking with have all been bullish about working with mom, even given all this information. So was Sunbury, though, until literally days before they said it wasn't working out.

Mom's current pattern is to be of sunny and happy disposition to everyone who speaks with her, but she will quickly insist that it's been a nice visit but she's got to get back to work now. Or back home, or to the bank, or some other urgent errand. She's very nervous by the fact that she doesn't have any cash or identification, because she doesn't know how she's going to eat, or pay for gas, or get cat food. She waves away my explanations by telephone that she has three big meals a day there, and that Ricky can run all the cat-food-related errands she needs filled. It makes no sense to her at all that she actually *lives* there; she figures she's in some ill-defined in-between place (which to her credit I suppose in true on some levels), and gets exasperated with everyone's stubborn refusal to just take her back home, already.

Winterberry told me yesterday that they've had to redirect her back into the building several times, which she cheerfully complies with until she gets nervous again. They're much more patient and willing to help with this than Sunbury was (for lo they charge double the rent as Sunbury), and the Ambien at least prevents her from trying to do this in the middle of the night. But this can't last; if she doesn't acclimate (through time, medication, or other route) over June, then this solution too will fail, and we'll have to place her into a "memory unit", which is essentially a lockdown facility. (Winterberry has one, and it has a waiting list attached. I would expect this to therefore be the case with any others.)

Meanwhile, Sunbury management, who had been goodcop-badcopping me about mom's behavior since we moved in, currently claims that Aha! She failed to give 30 days written notice before moving out, and therefore owes rent in full through July! I don't intend to pay them past June, because for fuck's sake, but I have not had the wherewithal to begin this conversation with them yet. Part of me rather feels like I've had a cash-firehose tuned on mom for the past six weeks, so what's another $2,000? Yesterday Amy pointed out a $17 discrepancy on our hotel bill and I wanted to laugh but we fixed it anyway. Living like a rich man.

Picked up many nice job leads. Have not applied to any because time.

Returning to Maine next week for at least one day; taking mom to doctor, and hoping that my personal presence will increase the likelihood of immediate prescriptions for Winterberry's recommended anti-anxiety medications for her. Then setting up a new PCP in Bangor, an act that apparently can only be done in person.

I hope this all works.

June 2014

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