Both Moms With Dementia

3-1 What Happened to Mom?

The time for returning home from the day care center is usually around 4:40 PM. When she gets home, my mom has to spend a few hours alone. During that time, I always have to keep my antenna up, worrying about her, no matter what I am doing. So, I often find myself unable to get much work done. After hearing about my struggles, one day my son installed an app on my phone and set up a home security camera. From then on, even when I was out, I would check the camera to see what mom was doing and whether she had fallen. The camera system allowed me to talk through it, so when I called out "Mom!" she was amazed. "There’s no one here, but where is the voice coming from?" My mom’s reaction was so funny that we all had a good laugh.

But today, something feels off. No matter how many times I call for Mom, there's no response. By now, she should have gotten up, but she just lies still on the sofa without moving. It’s strange because there’s never been a day when she just lay there without moving. Mom was always bustling around, like a curious child, opening drawers and taking out this and that, or rummaging through the fridge and causing little mishaps. What could have happened all of a sudden?

"Oh! What’s that?" As I rotated the camera lens to check, a sudden ominous feeling washed over me. The air in the room somehow felt unusual, unsettling. The foreboding sensation seemed to transcend time and space, absorbing into my body. "What’s that rolling on the floor?" In that moment, I sprang up like a coiled spring and rushed toward my mom’s house. Though it was less than a minute away, the distance felt like a thousand miles, and every second dragged on endlessly. In those brief moments, the worst scenarios tangled and unraveled in my mind. ‘What if something’s happened? What if she’s not breathing? What if she’s… gone?‘ Please, let this be just a nightmare…

I flung the door open so forcefully it felt like it might break, but my mom didn’t budge. The first thing I noticed was a pill bottle lying on the floor. The bottle was empty, its cap off, with no sign of the pills inside. She had taken all the medication that was supposed to be consumed one pill a day. "No, this is like something out of a movie…" An overwhelming sense of dread washed over me.

“Mom! Mom!” I shook her several times, calling out to her, but she wouldn’t regain consciousness. Thankfully, she was still breathing. I was so shocked that I can’t even remember how I managed to get her to the hospital.

As she was wheeled into the emergency room on a stretcher, doctors and nurses suddenly sprang into action, starting a gastric lavage. Without even realizing it, I closed my eyes and began to pray. God, Jesus, Buddha, please… please let my mom be okay…

What if something happens to Mom? All the harsh words and actions I had directed at her the day before came rushing back to me. In our small rural village, with only a handful of people around, she had been so harsh, antagonistic, and aggressive with her words to everyone she met. The villagers would say how different Mom and I were, commenting on how scary she had become.

Dementia had turned my once-gentle mother into someone with such a ferocious temper, and no matter how much I pleaded with her to stop, nothing changed. I couldn’t even walk around the village with my head held high because of the shame. Most of the villagers, being the kind-hearted people that rural communities tend to have, tried to be understanding and even shared their concerns about her. But at the same time, I could sense they were avoiding any direct encounters. Regardless of their reactions, Mom would still glare and hurl fierce words at the villagers whenever she ran into them.

She’s neither a reckless child nor a troublemaking kid, so why does Mom torment me so much? “What’s wrong with you, Mom? You’re so strange. Why do you keep causing your children so much grief? Why do you act like this? You’re making me so embarrassed in the village! You’re driving me crazy!” I would lash out with sharp words like these.

Among her children, I was always considered the most devoted daughter, the one she felt most comfortable with and relied on. But to have said such hurtful things to her must have pained her deeply. Seeing her angry yet dejected expression afterward would break my heart. I would try to comfort her, promising we’d always get along with smiles on our faces. We even made pinky promises and stamped our fingers together, vowing to live well. But it never lasted.

As the tube was inserted to flush her stomach, Mom let out strange, animal-like cries of extreme pain. I couldn’t bear to let her go like this. I wished this were all just a dream, desperately wanting to wake up from this nightmare. It felt as though everything was my fault.

‘Mom, please wake up! You can call me a terrible daughter, curse me with the harshest words like ‘damn bitch’, even ones I can’t bear to repeat—I don’t care. I won’t say anything back. I’m sorry!‘

I should have made sure she was never left alone. I shouldn’t have neglected her out of exhaustion or frustration.

Could it be that she took them unknowingly because of her dementia? Or was it that she despaired over my harsh words, thinking there was no point in living, and attempted suicide? Since I couldn’t have a normal conversation with Mom, I would never know the truth. But regardless of the reason, it was undoubtedly my fault. As I waited for her to regain consciousness, I couldn’t stop the tears and mucus streaming down my face, wiping them away with the back of my hand again and again.

I gently stroked my mom’s face, which looked even more gaunt from the pain of the gastric lavage, and spoke to her to see how much of her consciousness had returned. After a while, she asked, “Where is this? Aren’t we going home?” It seemed that the worst was finally over.

Even after regaining consciousness, Mom had to stay in the intensive care unit for three more days. During that time, there were moments when her arms and legs had to be restrained. When I went to visit her in the ICU, a nurse explained that Mom kept pulling out the IV needle, leaving them no choice but to tie her hands and feet. Even though I was already aware of this, seeing Mom struggling with her hands tied to the bed rails was shocking. I wanted to tell the nurse that this didn’t seem right, but I had to hold back. It wasn’t a situation where I could voice any complaints, especially since they said she had been biting the nurses and kicking them in protest, upset about not being allowed to go home.

Mom's gaze in the ICU was filled with overwhelming anxiety. Seeing her like that broke my heart as well.

"This isn't my home. Why are they keeping me here?"
"Mom, you have to stay here for a few more days. You're very sick, and these people are helping you. Please try to be patient. And since they're helping you, you should say thank you instead of cursing at them!“

I couldn't tell if Mom understood or not, as her expression was unreadable. As I was leaving after the visit, Mom's desperate eyes seemed to beg me to take her with me. Her gaze followed me until the moment the hospital door closed. Even after I got home, that look stayed in my mind.

Mom was transferred to a general ward after three days, and after regaining her strength, she was discharged with the help of a wheelchair. Mom had returned to us from the brink of death. A few days later, I took her to her favorite sundae(a Korean-style sausage, but instead of meat, it’s stuffed with noodles and other fillings) soup restaurant. When the sundae soup arrived, she ate it with great enjoyment. Being able to take Mom out like this felt like receiving a new day as a gift. My vision became blurry, whether from tears or the steam rising from the hot soup, but the time I spent facing Mom was so precious and happy. I promised myself that I would be better to her.

Since then, I started keeping the medication bottles in a place only I knew, where Mom couldn't reach them. Since she doesn't remember whether she took her medicine or not, it's especially important to manage the medication carefully for dementia patients.

It's essential! Let's make sure to always keep this in mind!