Mom never wanted to move out of her house. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She lived in her home for over 60 years, raised three children, and retired in the same house. As she got older, and after her significant other of 30 years passed away, she began falling again and again, it became apparent, at least to me, that she needed assistance to remain at home.

She was 89 when we hired the first private caregiver. That was over five years ago, and it worked for a while. Although the caregiver was very helpful, kind and compassionate, she could not protect mom from falling. My mother, a woman with a very strong will, a perennial exerciser and gym rat, shot out of chairs to pick up a scrap of paper across the room, and could fall with a caregiver next to her side. It was impossible to protect her. The last fall resulted in another ambulance ride to the ER, and her first visit to a skilled nursing facility. Thank goodness she didn’t break her hip. Several days of rehabilitation was required, and I knew, for her safety, that she couldn’t go back home. She was very weak, weak like a kitten she would say, and she agreed to move to a board and care home. She thought it was temporary. I knew it wasn’t. I, the good Girl Scout, spent over a year researching options for her. After numerous visits to board and care homes, I found a cheerful board and care close to my home with an abundance of caregivers, a weekly activity schedule, and alert residents for companionship.

As mom’s strength increased it became apparent she needed a more stimulating environment and she moved to a wonderful residential care community in the area. She loved it. She had a large studio apartment, new friends, stimulating activities, great food and entertainment; it was hard to stop her. When she wasn’t with friends, she raced her walker upstairs and down, and began falling again. Despite warnings from staff and friends, she continued to race her walker around and around. And worse, she began having anxiety attacks followed by numerous ambulance rides to the ER. What was going on here?

My lovely beautiful mom, my super-active mom, my world traveler, ballroom dancer Mom, was finally diagnosed with dementia. She had to move to a place with memory care, and, ideally, one with an onsite physician. Mom liked frequent visits to Kaiser. Where could I find a memory unit with a physician’s office? After searching throughout the valley, I was referred to the perfect residential care community with a memory unit, a physician’s office down the hall, and a flexible administrator who allowed residents to be escorted to the large dining room outside the memory unit.

We went to a private home health care agency for a caregiver to keep Mom company. It was a great place until the administrator changed the rules. Suddenly the private caregiver’s were restricted from preventing falls, and overnight we had no one. Within a few days, Mom fell again and was hospitalized. After several blood transfusions, she made it through, and it was time to move once again. I knew that only a board and care would do. Fast forward. Two days ago mom entered Hospice care. She had been hospitalized twice in the last two weeks. This time the doctor’s very gingerly suggested considering Hospice. I agreed. Mom isn’t going to get better. She doesn’t need to continue suffering painful invasive treatments, CT scans, blood transfusions and IV’s. It’s time for comfort care. It’s time for more care. The reality hasn’t hit me yet. It is hard to grasp. Our story isn’t over yet. Stay tuned.