The Hair Dyeing Fiasco

Every time my mom sees my dad, she complains about him not being "supportive" of her. He won't give her credit cards or money, he won't give her the keys to the car, he takes away her blow dryer, he threw out her holey clothes...she's fixated on the things he won't let her do-the ways he won't "support" her and pouts endlessly about it. I feel for my dad; obviously he is doing what is best (and safest) for my mom, but it must still be hard to have to take that independence away from your spouse and be harassed about it day and day out. In fact, some things have taken a little too long for him to "take away" from her in my opinion, and no doubt it is because he is trying to let her hold on to whatever she can for as long as she can. It's a hard position to be in.

One of the few things that mom does everyday is her hair and make-up, as you all know from my other posts! She religiously dyes her hair every 8 weeks and marks the calendar for every 8th Friday as "dye hair" day. Mom is losing her concept of days (I'll touch on that in another post) so on Monday she had it in her head that it was hair dyeing day-which means that I was the lucky one on duty to supervise mom in her hair dyeing adventure.

When I first arrived, I had no idea that mom was dyeing her hair. When I heard both the sink running and the blow dryer going, I knew it was time to peek in on her. I found the blow dryer on the floor beside her, blowing on the rug, and mom bending over the sink in my dad's Rolling Stones t-shirt. She wore a plastic glove on her right hand, which clued me in on what she was doing. As I approached mom at the sink, I saw reddish-brown water dripping all over the counter and into the sink. What was most alarming, however, was the stream of dyed-water tricking into her eyes.

"Ouch, this is so weird ouch, I don't know why it's hurting here ouch," mom mumbled, rubbing her plastic, dye-covered gloves over her eye.

"Mom, no...you shouldn't touch your eyes. Don't touch your eyes."

I tried to make her understand that it was the hair dye dripping into her eyes that was causing her discomfort. I tried to convince her to hop into the shower. Of course she didn't understand any of my direction. Instead, she nudged me away and continued to fill her Princess House Crystal glass with water and dump it over her head. I admit I really didn't know what to do and so I let her continue to rinse. I suppose I probably should have stripped her down and thrown her in the shower. But I felt as though that might be a violation of her and I was unsure if that was the right answer (aside from the fact that mom is bigger than me...I'm not sure if I could handle her alone). When mom felt as though she had rinsed enough (all of the dye was NOT out of her hair), she spun her head around and, without wringing out any water from her hair, made her way to a towel she had hung over the shower stall. Water and dye left a pathway to her shower stall and stained the clothes she had thrown on the floor.

Needless to say, there was a huge mess to clean up after this ordeal; obviously the biggest concern is not the mess, but rather the hair dye harming mom's eyes. I regretted having to relate the details to my dad. This is going to be another big obstacle for him and I feel for him. Yet again, he will be the "unsupportive" husband and will have a huge battle on his hands when he refuses to give her her hair dye. We could try to dye her hair for her, but I don't know if she will understand what we are trying to do or even allow us to do it-she is very set in her routine and her way of doing things. Maybe we can convince her to let her hair stylist do it for her; again, it's not part of her routine. Time will tell.

Bubbles Bubbles, Everywhere

A few weeks ago, mom got a touch of spring fever. She did some laundry (only hers), washed some dishes and even started the dishwasher. You can see why dad was not so thrilled about mom’s cleaning spree.

Just an fyi: dish soap does NOT belong in the dishwasher. I’m not sure how long it took dad to get rid of the suds…but I’m fairly certain he’s assured mom that he’d be happy to take care of the dishwasher and washing machine from here on out!

Catching Up

I have been a little inconsistent lately with my blog; I apologize to my readers. I don’t mean to overdramatize anything by writing this post and I’m not seeking sympathy; this blog isn’t really about me so much as it’s about my mom, but I felt like I could share with my readers why I’ve been absent.

Last summer I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called Hashimotos. I hadn’t been feeling like myself since before my last son was born (he just turned 3) and some things came up during a routine physical last June which ultimately led to the discovery of this disease. Hashimotos is when the immune system launches an attack on the thyroid, eventually causing full destruction. Let me just tell you, when the thyroid is in trouble, it wreaks havoc on your entire well being…physical and mental!! At the time of diagnosis, the doctor told me that they don’t know the cause, there is no cure, it’s a progressive disease and all I needed to do was take a pill for the rest of my life. I suppose I put a little too much trust in what the doctor said and it was left at that-me, taking a pill.

The problem is, the pills haven’t worked. Truly, a pill is simply a band-aid for the disease. It doesn’t fix anything. It’s been a rollercoaster and over the past few months my symptoms have reached a peak. I won’t get into it all the details, but let’s just say I have been feeling pretty lousy; I have no energy or motivation to do anything (which is NOT like me at all!!), I have terrible “brain fog” (which has caused me so much worry about developing dementia), anxiety, and the list goes on. When my last blood results came back as “normal” (while I was feeling worse than ever) I realized that I need to take control of my own health and not leave it solely in the hands of a doctor. Over the past few weeks, I have been reading everything I can find and get my hands on about Hashimotos and autoimmune diseases. I’ve found that diet plays a huge role in overcoming debilitating symptoms and even putting autoimmune diseases into remission. It’s an intense process so it seems like most of my spare time (when I’m not tending to my family) has been spent reading and educating myself, preparing menus and meals, etc. Needless to say, my blog has been put on the back burner while I figure things out.

I still have a very long way to go, but I will say that I am slowly starting to see changes. So I feel very hopeful and optimistic that by continuing to make the necessary changes, I can heal my body, gain my life back and kick Hashimotos butt!!!

Now for what you all really want to read about…mom. Here’s an overview of the last few weeks.

The blow dryer is becoming a huge problem. When mom is finished getting ready for the day (doing her hair and make up), she is often sweaty. Her solution is to stick the blow dryer under her shirt to dry herself off. Last Monday, I heard the blow dryer go off and I knew she had already done her hair, so I knew exactly what she was up to. I raced back to her bedroom to find the blow dryer under the back of her shirt. And this is what her shirt looked like:

Thankfully she didn’t burn herself. Clearly, it’s time to take the blow dryer away. That is a fight that I know dad is not looking forward to.

Another “event” that took place was removing the lock from her bedroom door. She is NOT happy about it, to say the least. Aside from constantly locking my dad out of their room, in the event of an emergency we would not be able to get in there quickly while fumbling with keys. She’s very paranoid about people coming in and seeing her naked, he he. I keep assuring her that we will not disturb her while she is getting ready in the morning, unless of course there is an emergency.

My dad had a birthday a couple of weeks ago. We had him over for dinner and despite my urgings for mom to come, she wouldn’t budge. I don’t think she remembered it was his birthday until I called her and told her we were having dinner to celebrate (which took a few repetitions before she caught on). She did leave him a card when she remembered the date and noted that it was only 21 days until her birthday (in actuality, it was only 13 days until her birthday).

Which brings me to another issue: numbers. Mom is losing her ability to make sense of numbers. The countdown to her birthday is one example. Another example is a conversation she had with my dad the other day. She asked if Jeremy (my nephew) was turning 52 this year.

“No dear, you are 52. How could Jeremy be 52?” Dad asked.

“No…he’s going to be 22. Yeah, he’s in his 20’s”.

“Dear, he’s 10. He was baptized two years ago when he turned 8, remember? That means he’s 10 now.”

“No he was baptized when he was 18, he’s in his 20’s now,” mom insisted.

This came as somewhat of a surprise to me, as mom has been pretty aware of all of our ages. Just one more reminder of how this disease is taking her away from us.

This weekend is her birthday; it falls on the same day as Mother’s Day. I don’t think she understands Mother’s Day in the least. Last year she did…but since that time she seems to have forgotten every holiday except Christmas. She does know that it’s her birthday. With her decline over the past year, we suspect it could very well be her last birthday that she is aware of. I don’t know if she will peel herself away from her computer to spend time with us, but our plan is to have dinner with her and try as hard as we can to bring her out and spend time with us for what could be her last birthday celebration.

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

Can anyone see what is wrong with this picture?

I was chuckling this morning when I walked into mom’s room and found her wearing her shirt backwards. I tried to tell her, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to understand what I was saying. So I did the only thing I could do…I showed her the tag on the front of her shirt. It took a minute to get her attention (even with me tugging at her shirt) but she finally looked down at the tag I was pulling out from the inside of her shirt and started to connect the dots…sort of.

“Oh yeah, I was gonna ask you about this if this was right,” she said, seeming unsure of how to solve the problem.

I took her arm and tried to show her that it needed to come out of the sleeve and the shirt turned around. She finally figured it out, turned it around and then went back to her hair curling. It gave me a good morning chuckle.

Changes

Sometimes it’s hard to gauge just how much mom has changed in a year. This blog has been valuable in documenting those changes but for those who don’t engage with her regularly, her appearance is the most apparent way to see how much she’s changed. 2009/2010 was when we really started noticing the changes in mom. But only within the past 2-3 years has mom’s appearance been changing. Gone is the sparkle in her eye. Every now and then it comes back, but her whole demeanor has changed. Most obvious is her ability style her hair and make-up as she once did. Mom was always so well put together. Her hair always had style and laid just right. Her make-up was always nicely done. As with all of her abilities, this one is fading fast. In fact, it’s on the fast track over these past few months.

 

2010

 

 

 

 

 

2011

 

2012

2013

2014

Honestly, the camera flash tames it down just a bit. It looks much more dramatic in real-life. Over the past few months, mom’s make-up is gradually becoming worse and worse. She wears harsh, orange lines around her face and hairline from her beige make-up (she insists on buying shades too dark because she doesn’t like being white) and sometimes there are dark, uneven splotches on her face. She’s really caking on the eyeshadow and the eyeliner as well. I’m sure you’ve read my other posts about her hair…

I’ve tried to help her to tone it down, but unfortunately she doesn’t comprehend much of what I say these days. I’ve decided that instead of wasting the energy to try and correct her make-up, I will just tell her how lovely she looks instead. After all, it IS a great thing that she is still putting in the effort! The day that mom stops wearing make-up is the day we’ll know that we’ve passed the point of no return.

You will always be beautiful to me mom!

Mom’s Beauty Routine

I always thought my mom was pretty. She always took great pride in her appearance. I think a lot of that was due to her insecurities about her fair skin, her red hair, her blonde eyebrows and eyelashes. She never left the house without a fresh face of make-up on and her hair perfectly put together
(unless it was to pick us up from early morning seminary…in which case she wore her sunglasses). She always looked beautiful and nicely put together.

I remember my mom once telling me, when I was a kid, that she wanted to look good for my dad. I always thought it was sweet that even after years of marriage, mom wanted to look her best for my dad. Of course he loved her whether her make-up was on or off, but I’m sure he appreciated the fact that she made the effort to always look her best for him.

One of my mom’s obsessions now is her looks. However, it’s much more extreme now than it was before the dementia. She hides away from us until she is no longer a “Plain Jane”. She never worried about us seeing her without her make-up on around the house when we were kids. She doesn’t even like my dad to see her without it nowadays. She keeps it on at night (her pillow is orange from the residue of her foundation), washes her face in the morning and immediately puts on a fresh face before she steps foot out of her bedroom. But…she doesn’t quite have the talent she once had in doing her hair and make-up. Those who know her have noticed the change in her abilities.

On Monday, like many other days that I have gone over there, I arrived at my mom’s house and knocked on her bedroom door before she was “put together”. It usually takes several knocks before I get a response of any kind…if I even get a response at all. This time, I had a Mary Kay lip mask and balm that she had ordered from me and has been impatiently waiting for. I used that as bribery for her to open her door for me.

Immediately upon opening the door, mom fidgeted with her bangs and shyly turned her face away from me, stating,

“I didn’t want you to see me like this like a Plain Jane.”

I reassured her that it didn’t matter to me and invited myself in her room. I stood beside her at her bathroom sink and tried to converse with her as I studied her beauty regiment. First, she squirted a half-dollar-sized amount of Mary Kay foundation into the palm of her hand (which is highly pigmented…the size of a dime would be more than enough). She rubbed it onto her face, missing underneath her eyes and not blending into her hairline or jaw line whatsoever. Next, she took the same amount of a dark tan-colored Maybelline foundation and did the same.

“Whoa mom, let’s rub that in a little better,” I remarked, trying to help her blend in the lines. “I think this color is a little too dark for you,” I added.

“No I need to do this darker too cuz I don’t like that I’m such a really white person too. This is really good too and Bud really likes this color on me too,” she said, as she slathered it on.

“I remember this lady in Corona when we lived in Corona and she taught me us how to do these things really good too…” she told me. She submerged her powder puff into a container of powder and, without tapping any of it off, patted her face, re-dipping the powder puff after each pat on the various parts of her face (cheeks, forehead, nose, etc).

“My Aunt and Uncle say I look okay too, even though I feel like I look weird and differently too now in my 50’s but they say I still look okay too thank goodness, and other women at church too say that I still look good too which is so good too,” she continued as she slathered it all on.

She turned off the light in the bathroom and turned on a small light-up mirror which sat on her counter.

“This is such a good thing too. When Joe lived in that different place I had a different kind of mirror thing like this too and I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know if he has it still too,” she said. She swirled her cheek brush in a bright colored pink blush before vigorously rubbing it on her cheeks.

“This is my most favorite color,” mom remarked, as she applied her favorite navy blue eyeliner. “And Bud really likes it too, he really likes me this way too,” she added.

Mom continued to finish up her face: mascara (which she smudged on her eyelid), dark brown eyebrows and dark, pink lipstick. When she was finished with her make-up she turned her attention to her hair. After running the curling iron through her hair, she took not just one, but two cans of hairspray and explained to me that “that girl” who does her hair uses two different kinds of hairspray. She held the first can an inch away from her hair and sprayed, making her way around her head. When she came across a rogue hair, she would comb it down and plaster it with spray! When she was finished, she repeated the process with the second can. To finish up, mom took a bottle of Bath & Body Works spray and gave her hair several close-range squirts as she narrated,

“I tell Bud I put this on my hair too, he likes it too.”

She opened her blouse and put a few squirts down there as well as sprayed her arms and her hair-again.

As I watched my mom throughout this process, my initial reaction was to dive in there and tame down her “look”. But once I realized she wasn’t listening to a word I was saying (as I tried to help smooth out that jaw line) I just stood back and watched on. I admit it was partly amusing but a larger part of it was touching. I saw that innocence in my mom as she happily put her on make-up in an effort to look good for my dad. With every stroke of her brush and comment that “Bud likes it when I do this” I couldn’t help but to smile at the sweetness of it. Before, when I looked at my mom, all I could I see were the dramatic lines and colors that were too way dark for her complexion. Now, I see things a little differently. I see a woman who wants to look good for the man she loves. I see love.