Can You Hear Me Now?

Avoiding some of the ties that bind

Jun 15, 2025

Yes, I have not said much lately, here at the one month mark.

Ann has lived in Assisted Living/Memory Care down the hall now for four weeks. And thanks for asking, she is mostly doing okay. But we have not yet established a regular, predictable pattern—which she would ignore or forget anyway, but I am in need of a routine.

I need times when I can hand over Ann’s well-being to those to whom we are paying large bucks every day now for the duration. I need blocks of uninterrupted time to focus on my own needs and pursuits. I am re-learning how to live according to me and that takes quiet focus. I have lived according to her for so long and I am keeping the training wheels on for a while.

HOW MUCH CONTACT IS RIGHT?

I am having to address mistakes I made in providing too easy access to me early on. But how is one to know how much together time is enough, especially in the first weeks and months? There is no guidebook or user manual.

Before we made this move in mid-May, I tried to figure out the best course of staying connected while staying at a distance with Ann. Some sources recommended being out of sight for up to a month to allow the memory-impaired person time to become comfortable and secure with new people in a new place. To grow into a new NORMAL.

This approach is right for some new memory-care residents, but Ann’s over-dependence along with her relatively intact memories of who I am made disappearing for weeks the wrong choice. Surely there was a middle way.

So, foolishly, I set up an old iPad with nothing on the home screen but TEXT MESSAGES. If she needed something (important not trivial) she could text and I would respond. But no. The device got put in a drawer or covered up with towels. Or she couldn’t remember how to send a reply.

NEVER MORE THAN A SPEED DIAL AWAY

Plan B: The facility, about that time, announced that under the new self-owned and managed communications system, land lines would be available for the same fee I was paying for a flip phone (which stayed mostly lost.)

That corded phone (guess why not cordless) was installed two weeks ago and sat idle for a week. Then she learned to push the big button with the F on it. Six, seven, eight times a day she pushes the button.

And what we have is the telephonic version of being asked the same question every hour because they don’t remember having asked it before. And “why haven’t I seen you for days now” only hour after visiting her in her room.

And I can’t prevent the calls without removing the phone from her room. But I can prevent receiving the calls during certain intervals, and have just set that up this morning.

I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW

On my iPhone I have set up a new phone focus that, when set, will send Ann’s phone calls to voicemail. Can you guess which focus serves this function?

Over time, I may make a day—then two days—into no-call days.

I do know that when I have called her this past week, she is increasingly NOT in her room, and that is wonderful. She has a few fellow-residents who are conversant and sit with her at meals. She is adapting.

STILL LOOKING AND LISTENING

Meanwhile, I make more plans than I put legs on, inertia being such that the couch potato plan is the easiest. But an object at rest loses muscle mass and gains weight. An object at rest thinks doing nothing is a viable choice when not napping. I am about to give me a stern talking to. I hope I listen.

And so as to not disappoint readers who come for the photos, this is from my 7:00 am walk this morning. There are some interesting things happening in regards to our wooded path, and more on that, anon.

A single specimen in deep shade— a delphinium species I’m thinking—a common name taken from ancient Greek, based on the supposed resemblance of the flower shape to that of a dolphin. I will have to look more closely for that next pass by.

Post Script:

I just called for the final time to see if Ann could be dressed by 10:00 to go to church (which is important to her) and she is still not in her room. That’s a good thing. I think I’ll take a nap.