I’m glad that after a few rather gloomy chronicles, you’ve decided to come back. I imagine you’re hoping the sun will shine today. Well, you’re in luck, friends—the sun is out. I’m glad that after a few rather gloomy chronicles, you’ve decided to come back. I imagine you’re hoping the sun will shine today. Well, you’re in luck, friends—the sun is out. If you’re thinking I’ve made a mistake and repeated two paragraphs, you didn’t get it, hahaha. Today, in these caregiver chronicles, I’m going to talk about repetition. I’ll leave it there for now—keep reading, and I’ll explain. I’ll leave it there for now—keep reading, and I’ll explain.

Hahaha, sorry, that was funny. I’d love to see your faces, thinking, “She’s lost it, we knew it—denial, guilt, and time have defeated her.” Nope, silly people, today I’m here to talk about repetition. In my mind, I was planning to talk about everything my mother repeats (as you know, she has advanced dementia and repeats everything a thousand times). But then I thought, “These chronicles are about the caregiver, not dementia.” So, what does that have to do with repetition? It has everything to do with it. This post is about both things. Let’s begin… Let’s begin… (Hahaha, I’m enjoying this repeating nonsense, nonsense, and driving you all crazy, crazy).

On one hand, there’s the repetition of daily tasks—the daily routine of a caregiver. For my mother, it’s very important to have routines. If we don’t do the same things every day, she becomes even more disoriented. Eventually, you go into autopilot and stop thinking, and your life becomes monotonous—like Groundhog Day. For me, it’s “Granny Day,” hahaha. Wake up, breakfast, wash her up, invent activities to keep her entertained, work, make lunch, clean the house, snack, more activities, a walk, clean some more, dinner, watch TV, bedtime… (something like that)… day after day after day. I try to come up with different things; otherwise, I’m the one who goes crazy.

And then there’s my mother’s repetition. Every morning:
“What time is it? Where am I? Who are you? What time is it? Where am I? Who are you?”
In the afternoons:
“Do I live here? Where are my clothes? Where do you work? What hours do you have? Have we eaten? Who lives in this house? Do I live here? Where are my clothes? Where do you work? What hours do you have? Have we eaten? Who lives in this house?”
At night:
“Is this lunch or dinner? Who are you? Where’s the bathroom? Where do I sleep? Where do you sleep? Who are those boys here? Is this lunch or dinner? Who are you? Where’s the bathroom? Where do I sleep? Where do you sleep? Who are those boys here?”

You can check out some of my TikTok videos where we have these conversations.

I think you guys get the picture. Day after day, the same questions, morning, afternoon, and night. At first, I got frustrated. I’d scold her for asking the same questions, yell at her, and get very angry. Over time, I realized it wasn’t her fault. No matter how upset I got or how much I told her to try to remember, it was an impossible task. So, I started answering the same questions over and over. And now that I know she resets every five minutes, I give her completely different answers, like…

Where am I?
You’re in Paris, at your country house.

Who are you?
I’m your distant cousin.

Do I live here?
No, you’re here on vacation.

Where are my clothes?
Your neighbor has them.

Where do you work?
I’m a prostitute.

What hours do you have?
I work nights.

Have we eaten?
No, today’s Monday—we don’t eat on Mondays.

Who lives in this house?
I don’t know. We’re squatters.

Is this lunch or dinner?
It’s breakfast.

Where’s the bathroom?
In the basement.

Where do I sleep?
Upstairs.

Where do you sleep?
Downstairs.

Who are those boys here?
I’m not sure—they came with the house.

So, was it worth the wait for a semi-funny chronicle? Of course, it was. See you next time, guys.