Brainage

We have a baby monitor in Mom’s bedroom and the speaker is at the opposite end of the house in the Arizona Room. Since this is where Bill and I spend our evenings, if she needs help she can call out and we’ll hear her. In addition, while we’re having our first cup of coffee and watching the morning news, we can hear her as she rustles around in her bedroom, getting dressed and ready for the new day. It gives me a heads up so I can start getting her breakfast ready.

Yesterday I was placing her yogurt cup and banana on the loveseat as she was motoring into the living room. She stopped the wheelchair in the middle of the room and called me over. “I wanted to show you my new bruise,” she said, holding up her left arm to display the beginnings of a dark blue splotch about an inch wide and a couple of inches long.

“How in the world did you do that?” I asked.

“I fell down last night and hit it on the wheelchair,” she advised me with a solemn nod. “But I got back up by myself, so I didn’t have to call you for help.”

“That’s good, but how’d you manage to fall down in the first place.”

“Well, after I peed, I stood up to get back into bed and my brain told me to turn but my body didn’t listen and I fell down.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Well neither do I,” she replied. “My brain tells me to do one thing but my body just falls over instead.”

“Mom, you only have to take one step from the potty chair to your bed and you’ve got the bed cane that you can hold on to. Did you get dizzy? Were you feeling lightheaded again?”

“No, that isn’t a problem anymore since my blood pressure medicine got adjusted,” she said, wheeling her chair into its normal parking spot in front of the loveseat. “I think it’s just that sometimes I can’t do what my brain tells me to do.”

“Like turning left or right?”

“Yes.”

“Or laying down in the bed and not on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“So you fall down instead?”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it,” she responded, plopping down on the well-worn loveseat cushion. “Maybe my body’s getting older faster than my brain is,” she concluded, picking up the remote in one hand and the TV guide in the other. “Because my brain usually knows what to do. It’s my body that keeps messing up.”

brain



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