This is not the woman who raised me
My Mom had her second knee replacement surgery in 2019. The surgery went well, but Mom’s recovery was very difficult. It was not that she had unmanageable pain or any sort of complication. It was as if the surgery had changed her personality.
Mom and I never had the typical Hallmark type mother/daughter relationship. Growing up I was terrified of my mother. She was very stern and could strike fear in me with just a passing glance. Even as an adult and well into my 50s, I still feared her and her acerbic temper.
Prior to this surgery, I could please Mom if I was very careful with what I said or did. After her surgery, it was as if I was her nemeis. I was convinced that the anesthesia had somehow altered her temperment.
My mother was never the same again. I began noticing her struggling to perform daily tasks that before had been easy for her. She started having difficulty using her iPhone. Mom would complain that her phone was not working properly. She could not open her internet browser, or she could not find a friend in her contacts or she could not open up her text messages. All of these things Mom had done with ease before her surgery. The problem was not her phone, but how do you explain that to your own mother?
Mom had a friend over visiting. Her friend recognized the change and came to me with her concerns. Mom had continually called her friend by the wrong name during her visit. My mother was convinced that her friend was one of her cousins.
It was frightening. My mother had always been a strong, independent woman. Witnessing her cognitive decline was heartbreaking.
I made an appointment with her doctor to address these concerns. Her doctor administered the Standardized Mini-Cog test to determine if there were any signs of dementia. I was in the room while the test was administered. Mom scored 100% on the test. I was informed by her doctor that Mom showed no signs of dementia. I was baffled. My mother lived with me and had for the past 12 years. I knew for a fact she was experiencing some significant cognitive decline. I pulled the doctor aside and told him to look at Mom’s eyelashes. The doctor looked at me as if I was the one experiencing dementia. I explained that instead of putting on mascara, Mom had actually put lipstick on her eyelashes. Mom was very vain and would never leave the house without looking her best. This was not the mother I knew. The doctor simply shrugged it off.
I felt so alone and scared, but my fear was soon to be exacerbated by a simple urinary tract infection.
Until next time, be kind!
