A ~Good~ Day

I called home today – after one class and before the next. Asked how ma was doing, and hubby told me:

“She’s having a good day today,” he said. “She’s drinking okay. Oh, and when I tried to take her juice away before she was done, she tried to grab it and she talked. Well, not talked really. But she made a noise, and I knew she still wanted the juice.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I’m glad she’s having a good day. Call me if you need me.”

And I went and did what needed doing … but that phrase has followed me since.

When did the fact that she took a bit of juice or managed to express a preference become ‘a good day’?

Mondays used to be good days. We’d go run errands – ma, hubby & I – and then go out for lunch at the Chinese buffet. That was years ago though. Eventually she didn’t like going out any more. And then her heart condition got worse, and we started to have issues around… well … we couldn’t do Mondays any more.

But we still had good days. Days when company she liked would come. Or days when we would sit out on the deck and watch the sun set over the lake. Days when she laughed and smiled and talked. Or days when I would bring her home a chocolate milkshake. She used to love chocolate milkshakes. Our standards of what makes a good day has gradually changed.

December 14 was a good day. I know, because I posted this article about it. She forgot that she forgot how to walk and she got up and did it. It was a good day - for her - but for you or me? Not likely.  

And now? A day in which she expresses a preference and drinks a cup of juice and doesn’t run a fever: that is a ‘good day’.

Except when it doesn’t last. And a few hours after I get home, her fever spikes and she – well never mind – the point is that her ‘good day’ ended early and even though I have done what I could do for her and she is now “resting comfortably”, as they say, I am tired and very cranky.

And I am angry that for her a ‘good day’ is so very, very pitiful. Alzheimer’s sucks. It just really, really sucks!