My broken ankle has created an unintended consequence in that I believe it has put my mother in a bit of a tailspin. It seems odd to think that my mother’s memory could be affected by me breaking my ankle, but it is upsetting for her to see me hobbling around on crutches. Mom is constantly asking me what happened and so I repeat the story of my broken ankle for the 20th time in a day, only to see her face reflect a look of concern and worry.

I try to be light about it, but I can tell it upsets her each time she hears the story. Sometimes she is a bit more pragmatic in her response than others, but there is a definite difference in her confusion the past few weeks. It could of course be a more ominous sign and another shift in her cognition towards her inevitable decline. But I am not sure it isn’t the recent events that are taxing her emotionally and exacerbating her condition.

So that was the scenario on a recent evening as I found myself sitting in the backyard with my booted broken ankle/foot resting on our outdoor coffee table.  Mother would come out through the backdoor, sit and talk with us a bit, ask me about my ankle, get confused by our conversation, stand up and say, “I don’t know what you all are talking about so I am going back inside”. Then she would walk back in the house, only to come back out a few minutes later and repeat her pattern. She just could not sit still.

It is sad when she gets like this, but it can also be exasperating because you want so desperately for her to remember something that you have repeated for what feels like the 100th time. Maybe it was because I was tired and my ankle hurt, but my patience began to wear thin. To make matters worse she was getting more and more agitated as the evening wore on.

On the last loop out to the back yard Mom stood in front of me and demanded, “Does my family know where I am? When are they coming to get me?” I was unfairly annoyed at this point so I started to push her to retrieve some memory, if only for my sake, and I said, “Mom I am your family! Do you know my name?” She looked a bit embarrassed and answered “Harriot?” I said “No that was your mother.” She tried again and said “Marjie?” I replied “No Marjie is your sister.” She said with a smile “Oops, well I am thinking.”

By this time I was really pushing her and I probably said a bit too urgently “Mom! Who am I, what is my name?” An expression of relief flashed across her face as if she had just figured out what I was trying to get her to understand. With a look of acknowledgement she exclaimed, “Oooh, so you don’t remember either!”

I laughed so hard I could barely catch my breath and that made the giggles start all around; And just like, the evening took a turn for the better, even though she never did remember my name!