The Assisted Living community has tried three times to get blood from my Mom and she’s refused each time. I hear the haunting voice in the back of my brain telling me that if my Mom starts to be combative on a regular basis, she is going to be moved to the next level of care … the “dementia” unit.
The only time this was mentioned to me was a few weeks ago when I was asking the head nurse if they could reconsider how they might get my parents to eat lunch. The nurse mentioned that my mom has been somewhat ornery when it comes to eating and was making it difficult for my Dad to eat in the lunchroom. This issue has mostly resolved and now my Dad usually eats lunch on his own, and my Mom stays in the apartment and makes herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
My Mom has always been the one we have to navigate around. During the move to Assisted Living, the doctor prescribed a pill that reduced my Mom’s anxiety (Ativan or generically called lorazepam). She took it temporarily, but she has been much more agreeable, even well after being taking off the medication. They only prescribed it for use during the initial transition into Assisted Living.
As I hang up the phone, that little seed of fear lurks. My parent’s are the happiest I’ve seen them in years together. I told the nurse I would get my Mom to a lab to get her blood work done. It’s always going to be something. Unfazed.