I received a phone call on Wednesday evening from a second shift aide at the place where mom lives. The conversation went something like this:
Hello, is this Mary?
“Yes it is.”
This is Linda from EB, where your mom lives.
“Yes? What’s up?”
I thought I should call and let you know what happened.
(Thoughts of mom falling and hurting herself immediately entered my head.)
Well, I went into your mom’s room to get her ready for bed and make her nightly brandy manhattan.
Then I left her room to help other residents.
For some reason, I don’t know why, I went back to your mom’s room. There was no reason for me to do it, but I found myself back in her room. When I opened the door, I saw your mom in the other bedroom, pouring more brandy into the drink I made for her.
“Really? Ohmigosh! Mom!”
(As an aside, the “other bedroom” used to be occupied by my dad. Now, only the refrigerator and closet is utilized and the room itself stores excess furniture belonging to the owner. The door to this room is usually kept shut and only opens when it’s cocktail time. Mom is supposed to pull the call light string when she gets up to go anywhere because she is unsteady and has fallen in the past.)
Back to the conversation…
The other aide and I wondered why, on occasion, we go into your mother’s room and the door to the bedroom is ajar. We usually keep it shut. We were also recently commenting that the brandy seemed to be going down in the bottle a little too fast. Apparently, your mom likes her drinks stronger than we make them.
“So now what? How do you keep her out of the brandy?”
I took the brandy and vermouth out of the refrigerator and put it in the med room. We will continue to make her a nightly brandy manhattan and we can monitor her consumption. I’m afraid she’ll get up to walk after having a drink and fall because of too much brandy.
“Oh, I totally understand. Thank you for
catching the little rapscallion watching out for mom.”
Mom was so busted.
Most likely, I will hear from her on Saturday that this aide had no right to take her brandy away. How dare she? She should bring it back!
Well, mom…when you commit the crime, you pay with time…waiting for your nightly cocktail.
(For more “mom,” see Age of Achievement.)