Eye for an Eye

My adorable, demented mom has found convenient reasons why she can't sleep with her metal and rubber eye patch the past two nights. "It fell off." "It itches too much." "The dog wanted to play with it." "I hate it."

I hope she doesn't lose sight in her "good eye" due to inability to follow the post-op instructions. We discussed the patch requirement with her eye doc before she had the surgery and he said she'd for sure lose the eyesight if she didn't have the operation. He's in the top three best doc's in the world for glaucoma, so we went with his opinion. As of today, I've asked the "night nurse" at the assisted living community to visit Mom's apartment at midnight. She will check to see if Mom still has the patch taped on or has taken it off and dropped it onto the floor for the dog to chew up, which is what happened to the first patch, night-before-last. The second one got lost way down under the covers last night, but Saint Norma (our caregiver) found it this morning.

Mom's lack of cooperation where discomfort is concerned reminds me of when I was a pre-teen and refused to wear the headgear that my orthodontist had fitted for me to sleep with every night. I'd say goodnight to my parents, then take it off as soon as they closed my bedroom door. It was too easy, that kind of denial, because I was such a good girl. And I was a liar (ask my old friends, Cappy and Stephanie - I could spin a yarn back then). After a very expensive year of no movement with my teeth, the orthodontist came over to my home, barred his perfect teeth at Mom and me and proceeded to bust me to the point of hysteria. It was way worse than confession and penance (yes, I was raised Catholic). I was scared straight - teeth, at least.

I stopped lying about the headgear, and everything else for that matter. It occurred to me that I'd always get busted anyway, so why bother with denial and lies, no matter how good they seem at the time. Maybe Mom has regressed a bit in that area. She scratches her legs all the time, but denies it, even when we catch her in the act. Still, I won't force the eye doctor on Mom in her own home, mostly because he's not very scary, and he's now in Armenia doing amazing volunteer work with people who cooperate willingly to save their eyesight. And Mom's dementia would just make her hysterical, like a pre-teen fighting braces.