Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

www.dictionary.com defines CONFABULATION as follows (as it relates to my mother's behavior):

Psychiatry. the replacement of a gap in a person's memory by a falsification that he or she believes to be true.

The unconscious filling of gaps in one's memory by fabrications that one accepts as facts.

a plausible but imagined memory that fills in gaps in what is remembered

a filling in of gaps in memory by unconstrained fabrication.

In a previous post I touched upon the mechanics of confabulation. This word and its definition actually provided me with some great comfort. It's way easier to think of mother as confabulating rather than lying like a rug. One of the most uncomfortable things for a person is to catch their parents in a lie. It shakes their foundation of trust. You're supposed to be able to trust your parents. If they are disingenuous, who CAN you trust????

One of our family's claims to fame (other than ME -- the illustrious blogger) is my dad's involvement in the development of color television. After World War II, my dad was employed with Sylvania Electric (I think that was the company name back then). He was part of the team of scientists and technicians who developed the color RED for television. If you pull the patent, you will see my dad's name among many others, although, my mother has always told us that my father single handedly invented the color red for TV.

Mom's TV is going. No matter what we do, everyone looks very sunburned. I walked into her room the other day and listened while she told someone that the reason the red level is so high on her TV is because that was the TV my father used to perfect and develop the color red. Oh my God, I was mortified.

I confess that before I knew it, I found myself once again setting the record straight. I need to stop doing that. I need to nod and smile and let her talk. It troubles me to see her saying things like that.

I wish her stories were harmless.

Mom's chosen role in any given situation is "victim." In order for her to comfortably assume that role, she often resorts to made up stories of offense. Unfortunately, those stories aren't without harm. She says outrageous things about people who have "harmed" her.

A friend of mine attended an activity that was a spelling competition. Mom was cheating. She was trying to help her friend spell a word. Unfortunately for Mom, she's got a voice like Foghorn Leghorn, so her "whisper" boomed across the room. The moderator chided Mom and said, "No! You can't help him, that's cheating." Mom was embarrassed and left in the middle of the game.

My friend called me to tell me what had happened. She thought it was kind of cute the way Mom was helping out her friend-a man-who seems to have a big old crush on Mom. The point of her telling me the story was not to tattle on Mom, but to share about the budding friendship between Mom and this man, and how they both seem to be looking out for each other.

Mom's version of the story is much more volatile. Mom said the moderator grabbed her, yanked her around, and screamed at her. The moderator, according to Mom, ordered her to leave the room, branding her a cheater and a liar. The sad part is, the lady who was the moderator thinks the world of Mom. It would break her heart if she knew what Mom was saying about her.

Why do I tell you this story? It's not to assassinate my mother's character. Most of the readers of this blog are in the same boat. They're responsible for parents who are aging... poorly. I belong to a group of people who support each other through the difficult times. Lately, I've been hearing a lot of them say in bewilderment, "My mother told a LIE!!!" or "Dad just made that up!!!"

I have another friend in the same nursing home who has MS and dementia. He too confabulates. He loses track of time. The other day his social worker called me at work to inquire about an electric razor I had given him that had turned up missing. He told her I gave him the razor a month ago. I had actually given him the razor in December of 2006. He firmly believes it was just last month. Time runs together for him.

It's part of the disease. Dementia. It's a horrible thing. It doesn't sap away at intelligence or personality. It steals inhibitions. It forces gaps in memory. Minutes or hours are lost to the patient. They can be completely unable to account for the time between breakfast and lunch, except for small snippets. Some feel the need to fill in the gaps.

Who does dementia hurt? Everyone, that's who. When I give in to the urge to set the record straight, my mom is mortified. For a moment, she realizes how crazy she sounds. That's the culmination of her worst fear, that people will see her as nuts.

To my readers who deal with this and long for a solution, I refer you to an excellent article:

http://boomer-books.com/dementia/dementia.html

To those of you who pop in to see what's up with Nansi... Now you know! Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, will ya? And my mom too.