Bath Time

Mom disliked bathtime.  Not that she ever luxuriated in a tub full of bubbles in a warm bathroom full of candles and pretty scents.  Her bathing habits were to get in and out of the tub as quickly as possible, always accompanied by a lot of splashing.  I know this because it was her habit to leave the bathroom door ajar to “let out the steam” so the mirrors did not fog up.  Admittedly, this did prevent the mirror from fogging over, but we were always entertained by the torrential sounds of water being thrown around as we passed by the door on our way to or from the family room.  If nothing else, Mom was efficient in everything she did – bathing included.

As dementia worked its way further into her life, however, regular bathing fell further and further down on the list of daily tasks.  We had begun to suspect that something was amiss when her home health aides began to report that she had frequent urinary tract infections.  This was distressing to me as mother had rigidly enforced the rule when my sister and I were growing up that “cleanliness was next to Godliness.”  What had changed?

After much investigating, I finally discovered that when questioned by the daytime aide, Mom vigorously responded that she had taken a shower the night before and did not need another one – while, the nighttime aide heard a similar story in that Mom had showered that afternoon.  I laughingly told the aides that Mom’s insistence that she had cleaned up was like my sister wetting her toothbrush to make Mom believe that she had brushed her teeth.  It didn’t take Mom long to wise up to my little sister’s subterfuge, and now as a senior adult she was employing the same tactics!

“Elena, you have to check the towels.  If there is no evidence that they have been used, then check the shower walls and the floor mat,” I suggested.  “She is probably not telling you the truth and that may be why she is having so many urinary tract infections.”

Sure enough, the washcloth was the only item in the room that was wet after Mom claimed she had showered.  At least the toothbrush was wet… which didn’t really mean anything in our household as had been demonstrated by my little sister many years before!

“Ladies, we can no longer let Mom take showers on her own.  One of you has to take a more active role in overseeing this,” we instructed.

Little did we know what a struggle that would be.  Mom fought the aides every day and used every scheme that she could come up with to avoid showering.  The aides were angels in putting up with her protests and the verbal abuses she threw at them, but the frequency of infections slowed down and her skin and nails took on a healthier appearance.  The aides persevered and, at least for a few months, Mom thrived under their loving and watchful eyes. 

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A Bandaid for the Caregiver is dedicated to all those families who journey with memory loss in their lives and the sharing of hope and joy and new possibilities.  In each difficult moment there lies an opportunity for love.

Journey with courage,
Elaine