First, he recognized the rarity (hehe) of my INFJ-ness (1% of the population).
Second, he had a lot of good tips.
Third, he named IT - the doing of usually arty things until I get an accolade or prize, then I'm DONE.
He called it, "Master and Move On." That's totally it!
I'm not sure how it helps, but oh how I enjoy a good label. It's like organizing...myself.
Then, since I've been having dreams about it, I took Mom for a mani-pedi. Mostly pedi. Her toenails were gross and I sure as Shirley wasn't going to do them. We stayed in Durham, went to a very nice nearby salon called Mimi's Nail Spa, it doesn't stink of that strong nail polish smell. They serve wine, water, or soft drinks, it's nicely decorated, and their pictures aren't hung too high (that seems to be a common occurrence in nail salons for some reason). It's quite civilized.
Of course she charmed them with her demented ways.
When we got back to W., one of the aides said Mom hit another of the aides with a hanger yesterday because she didn't want to take her meds.
|The "I'm not doing it and you can't make me!" face.|
We sat in the lounge across from her room and attempted to talk about it.
Me: They are just doing their [extremely underpaid] job, they're not trying to be mean to you. You need to take your medicine.
Mom: I don't know what about some of these people in here.
Me: Right, but you can't hit people with hangers even if you don't know what about them.
Mom: I don't even have a car. I don't want to be like those people.
Me: Mean people?
Mom: Yes. Let me tell you and you know this, I am not that kind of person. I don't like that. You aren't that kind either.
Me: That's not like you at all, you're not a mean person. The medicine helps that too.
Mom: I know. Sometimes I get so [clenches her fists]. I don't know what's going on in here. And I want to know about that.
Me: It must be very frustrating. [to not remember, to not be able to express yourself, to be unable to refuse to do something...etc.]
Mom: I have no life here.
Me: It seems like that, but you could. They do activities, go places.
Mom: I could do that.
Me: Yes you could.
Mom: Are those good shoes?
Me: Yes, very comfortable.
Mom: Good. We can help each other with that. I don't want to be like that.
Me: No, don't be mean like Granny.
Mom: Oh, how is she? I haven't seen her in a long time.
Me: She died.
Mom: She did?! When?
Me: 2003 or 2004
Mom: I wish I could have seen her.
Me: Well, you did, you were with her when she died.
Mom: I was?! I must not have forgotten that, no that's wrong.
Me: You must have blocked it out. You went to see her almost every day and cooked for her.
Mom: She was over there. (points to the Alzheimer's building across the courtyard)
Me: Sort of. She was in the nursing home.
Mom: I have to pee.
On the way out I talk with the two aides. And apologize.