Prairie View

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Incoherence in the Twilight Zone

The twilight zone between waking and sleeping can provide the setting for some strange goings- on. Last night, while I stayed with my mother during the night, I witnessed this phenomenon.

Around 11:00, after 2 hours of sleep--

Me (sensing Mom's restlessness) : What can I do for you?

Mom: I don't know. I need . . . I don't know what I need . . . Can you tell me what I need?

Me: Are you too hot?

Mom: No.

Me: Do you want to turn to the other side?

Mom: No.

Me: Do you want to go to the bathroom?

Mom: No.

Me: Do you need a drink?

Mom: No. I don't know why I'm so incoherent.

Mom: Maybe Dad could tell me what I want.

Me: (Awwww. Sweet.) Do you want me to call Dad?

Mom: Yes.

Dad: What do you need, Mom?

Mom: I want you to tell me what I need.

Dad (laughing) : I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do that.

Mom: Well . . . I think I need shaking. . .

Dad: Shaking? How about if we sit you up?

Mom: I think I need an egg. To shake up. To make batter. Oh my. I'm not making any sense. (She chuckles at herself.)

Dad: I think what you need is to go back to sleep.

We both get her all tucked in, with pillows arranged all around her, and the head of the bed elevated just right, and cover her with the top sheet and the down comforter.

Mom: I think what I need is to go to the bathroom.

Me: I'll take you.

We reverse the above process with the pillows and covers.

After we return from the bathroom, Mom rambles on a bit about the bathroom trip and finishes with--

Mom: . . . and I'm at least partly talking sense. (She chuckles again.)

We tuck her in again--

Mom (to Dad) : Maybe if you washed my face with a wet washcloth I could wake up right.

Dad: I think we don't want you to wake up right. We want you to go to sleep right.

Mom: OK. Are you sure you shouldn't get me a wet washcloth first? (More chuckles.)

Dad wisely ignores this, tells her goodnight again, and heads for bed.

Mom: I wonder if Lois couldn't tell me what I want. If that's not asking too much. . . Von 's net tsu feeuhl k'fohtet iss. . . (She lives in a neighboring house.)

Me: (I can't see myself calling Lois and saying "Mom wants you to come over here and tell her what she wants.") What would Lois guess you want?

Mom: Well. . . Maybe she'd check my blood sugar or my blood pressure . . . I wonder if I have high blood sugar.

Me: (My eyes narrow. This almost makes sense. I remember times in the hospital when she was restless like this, and her blood sugar was way out of whack.) Did you have Glyburide tonight?

Mom: I don't know.

Me: (Stalling) Let me check Linda's journal, and I'll see if you had it. You had such a good supper that I don't think your blood sugar should be too low or too high.

(I look in vain for information on Glyburide. I decide to suggest to Mom that we wait for 30 minutes before we call Lois. I walk to her bed to tell her what I decided.)

Me: (quietly) Mom?

No answer.

I tiptoe to Dad's recliner, lean back to go to sleep, and promptly get a giggling fit. Too incoherent to make sense, but coherent enough to refer to her own incoherence. What a hoot!

2 Comments:

  • LOL That's pretty funny, really.

    By Blogger Unknown, at 1/03/2009  

  • Lois did come over to check her blood pressure, blood sugar, etc. the other night when I was concerned about some symptoms.

    She usually gets glyburide at breakfast. Maybe you didn't check back far enough in the journal.

    Linda Rose

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 1/05/2009  

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