Every muscle in my body tensed at the sound of that one word.
Phooey.
It doesn't sound like much but that word means the live ammunition has come out. Ma D has her back to the wall and no one is pulling her away. But I give her another chance, maybe the hygienist can talk her down - maybe.
And that, I hate to say, doesn't usually involve the truth. Once I felt bad about that but now I realize that stressing them with the truth is often - just that, a whole lot of stress for everyone involved. So I lean on my forte - making up a story. Stories, I make them up all the time, every day. But, those stories are for other reasons. This story is playing with the footprint of someone's life. I know it but I prefer to think of it as getting from point a to point b, and all with a smile on each of our faces, at least at the end.
"I'll just take them for a few minutes," the hygienist continues but she's yet to learn who she's up against.
"No. And where's that dentist, I'm betting they went for lunch. That's happened before you know."
Maybe it happened before, maybe it didn't. All I know was that it never happened on my watch.
Ma D isn't smiling and I know that at this point it's time to step in with the story. First off - an assurance that the dentist will take a late lunch and she won't be left waiting. But lunch is on her mind and that comes up again and again - I can deal with that. The refusal to have her partials cleaned, not so much.
"The dentist has to look at your partials to see if they need repair."
"Oh."
And some days it's as easy as that.
As easy as the new rollater/walker, known as the cart - which has been adopted, much to my surprise, with little fuss or muss. It runs beautifully indoors through store aisles - everywhere. Aside from attempting to return it with the other carts a few times, the last in Walmart - where the shoplifter alert went off as we passed through - Ma D has been running with it like a pro. With the shoplifter alert bleating, she kept on pushing while I turned to go back. Instead, I was waved through by the Walmart greeter without even a check to see if we were actually lifting anything - we weren't. Was it the cart that shrieked innocence or maybe it was Ma D's white hair and smile.
And so, another excursion ends with dark clouds closing in and Ma D saying that it's time to go home. A year ago - the care home where she lives would never be called home.
We've come a long way.
And with dementia you take every win - savour every smile and just keep trucking along.
It's her life and she's still here and she's still smiling.
And through it all, I'm counting days to the book that explores the fictional side of dementia - and offers a promise of love. More on Cassie's story in the weeks to follow.
Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com
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