The Iron Maiden

Mom has had advanced dementia for the past two years (stage 6), and last year fell three times, resulting in a broken arm, a broken pelvic bone, and broken hip. The hip fracture required surgery and a rod through her thigh. 

We thought that the end was near, and hospice agreed. Family flew in to see her one last time,  and she spent the next several months in bed, groaning in confusion and agony. Then she started to perk up. 

Then she graduated off hospice.  A year later she is still going strong, although pretty much confined to the wheelchair, but is progressively getting strong enough to stand for short periods of time. 

And the beauty of her dementia is she doesn’t realize she fell, or remember that she suffered horrible pain for so long. And she doesn’t even know she’s confined to her wheelchair.  When I visit, she will occasionally tell me how she went for a walk earlier, or she will spontaneously attempt to get up and walk somewhere.  She is always surprised by the pain she feels, and usually plops right back down.

Today, she gets around well in her wheelchair, using her feet to propel herself all around the hallways. Many times I come to visit, and she is cheerfully rounding the corner from another hallway. She loves when we take her to the beauty or nail salon. She’ll be 93 in May. Kelly calls her The Iron Maiden.