Harder To Breathe 5.0

Chapter Five: You Want Somebody, Just Anybody to Lay Their Hands on Your Soul Tonight
*Adam's POV*


"Mom?" I called into the dimly lit house after I knocked a few times on the locked door, just to be sure she wouldn't get frightened. I took my key form the doorknob and shut the door again. "Mom? You in here?" I asked, walking around the kitchen. The stove's light was on and I shut it off, going around the room and checking other mishaps that were bound to be present. The pictures on the fridge of my childhood made me pause for a moment, but before I got to thinking and becoming saddened I opened it to see if she put a pillow in there again. At least there wasn't anything out of the ordinary there. I sighed in relief, heading into the living room. That's where I saw her scrapbooking with a bunch of photos, paper and crafting tools spread out all over the floor. Currently she was cutting around the edges by a 4x6 with a special scissor that made wavy cuts. She hummed a song she used to sing me to fall asleep to as she worked, truly having joy in her prominent hobby. Unfortunately I noticed that everything was in the same place as I saw it last and nothing was done or different, save for a few scraps here and there.

I smiled as I crouched down next to her however, cautiously placing my hand on her shoulder.
"Hi, Mom," I said, catching her attention. She looked up and blinked at me with a blank stare for a while before she smiled back at me.
"Oh, hello, Adam!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. I was so glad she remembered this time, using one of my arms to embrace her. "I'm so happy you decided to visit! I was beginning to think that college was becoming too much for you." I smiled and nodded, not having a heart to tell her that I haven't been in school for nearly six years. I was hoping she would drop the subject, for the sake of her feelings. "Just the other day"—she stopped talking and started to gaze off into the distance, confusion clearly written all over her face. For a moment she just stopped and her body looked like it was deflating, but then her eyes sparked and her hand flew to her mouth in a worried manner. I backed away slowly and watched my mother scramble to her feet, eyes widened and lips moving rapidly as if she was talking to someone. She looked over her shoulder and wrung her hands multiple times. It was then that I noticed she was wearing her pajamas underneath her clothes again when the collar of the nightgown poked out from her outermost top. I prepared myself because I knew what was about to happen next and I didn't want it to.

She shot a look towards me and took a step away to the doorway of the hallway leading to the staircase.
"Wh-who are you?" she demanded with a shaky voice.  I put my hands out gently to try to calm her down as my heart began to crack.
"I'm your son," I tried to explain softly, not going any closer to her to not scare her anymore. "I'm here to take care of you." She shook her head violently, turning away slightly as if she was going to run, which I knew she couldn't.
"No! You're an imposter!" she shouted with difficulty and unclear pronunciation. I took a few deep breaths to hold myself together and to keep a level head.
"I'm Adam, and you're Leila. You're my mother," I said confidently, though on the inside I was saddened and frustrated. At least that made her lighten up slightly, which was good enough for me at this point. "I want to help you; even if you don't remember me, I've been taking care of you for a long time." It hurt me so badly to say that. I was only lucky enough to have a mother that loved me and supported me from childhood to college, but now she's not there anymore, being taken a hold of by Alzheimer's disease that rips out memory and sucks out the ability to function. And now not only have I lost her once already, I have to lose her again when she passes away, which very well could be soon because of the added factors of old age and the terrible form of dementia.

"I uh… I…" she stuttered, looking down and embarrassed. She rubbed her knuckles constantly and now her eyes were darting around the floor.
"It's getting late," I lied, knowing that she wouldn't be able to tell the difference, "You should be going to bed. Would you like for me to help you upstairs?" I offered then, taking baby steps towards her. After I was a few feet away she nodded her head once and held out her arm. I gladly too it and walked us to the wide staircase of only twelve steps, taking one step at a time. Sometimes I think that our strong bond was the only thing that was keeping her here and still not in the last, most sever stage of Alzheimer's. Her real caregiver that couldn't be here today, which was the reason that I had to come, had black hair like me and he looks about the same age so sometimes he tells me that he has to pretend he's me in order to calm her down or to get her to take her medicine.

I wasn't completely satisfied with the fact that I wasn't able to come here more often to keep my mom in my sights and to make sure she's being treated correctly. My job doesn't allow that, however, so I had to make so and call for a homecare service since I wanted her to be more comfortable with her surroundings. Picking a suitable candidate to assist her was tiring work but was rewarding because I truly think I found the best I could. I wouldn't have settled for anything less, anyhow. Another perk is that she lives in a great neighborhood. Even the husband and wife next door come over once in a while to check on things. They're my secret blessing.

As soon as we hit the level flooring, she started to hurry to her room as fast as she could with those frail bones. Still, it wasn't a hassle to keep up. She took off her top layers of clothes where another set lay to her mild surprise. She ignored it though and got into her bed, sitting up. I grabbed her medication along with a glass of room-temperature water on her bedside table that was placed next to an old picture of us together. I handed her the little yellow pill after I checked the time and held the water to her lips as she put the pill in her mouth. I smiled as she finished swallowing without much struggle.
"Go to sleep okay?" I cooed, petting her thinning hair. Please let her sleep, I begged inside my mind, sighing as I shut her door.

I stayed upstairs, just going to the office directly to the right. I sat down in the rolling chair and scooted up to the computer desk, setting my elbows on it and rubbing my face with both my palms. I wanted this to be over. I wanted my caring, funny, lively mother back. I hated her living in her own world of lies and darkness and blank thoughts. But most of all I was disappointed in myself for not catching it sooner because, as someone who studies the human mind, I should be able to see when something isn't right up there. I let my hand slam down on the wood in a fist as my arm tightened. My teeth clenched and I forced myself to breath in and out evenly, closing my eyes. There was nothing more that I wanted than to talk to her about all this and to hear her tell me it's not my fault because without that comfort I'll keep degrading and blaming myself. I know I shouldn't and there's a voice of reason telling me I'm acting irrational, but I can't help it. She's my rock and my foundation is crumbling away. I don't know if I could find anyone else that could fill in the cracks that are going to be left behind as she goes.

I shook my head at myself and held in my breath, letting it out slowly to attempt to release all the tenseness in my muscles. I opened my eyes again, staring at the black computer screen. If I was going to have any progress I needed to get to work. So I pulled out the keyboard and signed into my account, pulling up the internet. As it was loading I rummaged through a drawer and found some printer paper and a pen, taking off the cap with my teeth as I typed again. I have already read and reread the websites that I've added to my Favorites, so I went on a new scavenger hunt with Google and typed in some new things. I started off general and figured if I visited some of the sites it would eventually get me to a subsection of what I wanted to find. Quite a few things appeared to be familiar, and I started to wonder how many days my hours of searching added up to be. Occasionally I'd wake up in the middle of the night with an idea that I needed to study and would go downstairs to my living room while Jay would be sleeping to get all my thoughts down on paper. No one knows that I have a stash of research and findings disguised in one of my briefcases. It filled up the whole thing once so I actually bought a new one, now owning two nearly identical ones. I keep it away from others because I don't want them to worry. It's kind of a comfort thing.

After about an hour of looking at the same stuff again I decided to get out my phone. Running my fingers through my hair I went in my contacts to Jeremy's, the caretaker's, number. I reclined back and absently followed the patterns on the ceiling as the line was connected.
"Hello?" he answered after the fourth ring.
"Hi, it's Adam," I said, sitting back up.
"Oh, hey!" Jeremy greeted again with more enthusiasm. "What's up?"
"Can you talk for a little bit or am I interrupting?"
"Oh, no you're fine," he said kindly. I didn't know for sure his reasoning for not being able to stay any longer with my mom today, but I know he's not one to skip out, and he probably feels like he needs to make it up somehow so he's making time to chat.
"Okay, so… How's my mother been doing? Like, is her memory getting worse? Can she eat okay?" I began questioning, finding myself to sound panicky and distraught. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Is there anything I should know about?" I tried again slower this time, suddenly feeling tired.
"Well, some of my tricks aren't working as well anymore, and though she's determined to do things on her own, she can't. I think she's looking inertest in a lot of things, too," he informed me sadly.

I started to write down the symptoms and look up the causes on the web, sloppily jotting down my notes as I held the cell phone between my shoulder and cheek.
"Uh-huh… How about her suspicions? Does she let you come near her or…?"
"I usually get there in the morning before she wakes up—that is, if she slept—but if I don't then she gets pretty scared and it's hard to get her to calm down. Most of the time I have a partner with me for the first few hours and the last few, especially if I spend the night," he went on and explained. My eyes never rested and my fingers worked overtime to try and keep up with my ears. Nothing was completely clicking with me other than the fact that she's getting worse. And that was not what I was hoping for.
"Mmm… okay. So does she need help swallowing?" With this lump in my throat I'm the one who's having trouble at the moment.
"She's pretty okay with that," he said, not sounding signs of irritation or annoyance from the interview I was giving him, "She can still eat and drink everything that she always does, and her pills go down on the first try the majority of the time." A weight lifted off my shoulders at that point.
"Thanks so much, Jer, that really helped," I smiled lightly even if he couldn't see it.
"No problem," he replied. "Call me if you need anything else."
"Alright, thanks again. Bye," I finished, hanging up. That was only the first part of my duty of today.

Once I was done writing and looked it over, I called the neighbor. When it was ringing I stood up and went to my mom's room, cracking the door. I peeked inside and stared at her until I could see her chest moving up and down. She was sleeping soundly on her back. I closed the door quietly and sat back down, tapping my nails on the desk. It was the wife who answered.
"Hi, Mrs. White, it's Adam Lambert from next door," I acknowledged, stopping my finger tapping to bounce my leg on the ball of my foot.
"Good afternoon, Adam," she replied in that grandmotherly tone she always had, "What can I do you for?"
"I'm here with my mom today, and I was just checking up to see how she's been doing," I told her, putting my other hand on my neck and leaning back some. "Is there anything that you've noticed?"
"Oh," she sounded mildly caught off guard, clearing her throat. "I think you'd like to know about this; I was walking out to my car once as I was leaving to go spend the day with my grandchildren, and I noticed that your garage was open and the car was gone. I found it to be out of the ordinary so I left and checked it out. I only drove to the end of the street where I found that young dark-haired boy leaning slightly into Leila's car. I pulled over and that's when I realized that your mother was crying saying things like she was lost and didn't know where she was. When the young man asked her if she knew who she was and some other personal questions— I forget what the others were—she couldn't answer those either. It was heartbreaking," she concluded dejectedly and concerned.

I took a moment to collect myself from the paralysis of her statements.
"When did this happen?" I asked weakly after that, blinking slowly.
"Oh it couldn't even have been more than a week ago." I made a small noise of acknowledgement and blanked out, staring off into space with the phone up to my ear. "You know Adam," Mrs. White said suddenly, taking me from my zone, "you're mom is really lucky to have someone like you for her son. You're amazing." I smiled, rubbing the side of my face.
"Thanks," I accepted bashfully, "Well, that was all I needed. I appreciate your time."
"Of course. Have a nice day."
"You too." I clicked off my phone once again, thinking about what I should do next. What I had feared was happening. I reread and revaluated my notes from today and went back in my memory storage from previous times and it was pretty clear what was happening to Mom. She was starting to go into Stage 7 Alzheimer's; the last and worst level. From here on out there was only one thing I could possibly do to make her days as best as they could get. I knew I had at least one more call to make, dialing this number from heart.

A secretary answered fairly quickly and was soon reciting her daily routine.
"Yes, I'm Adam Lambert, calling for Doctor Mitchell about my mother, Leila Lambert that he's been seeing for Alzheimer's, and I was wondering if there was any way that  could speak to him," I said, deciding to pace back and forth for a bit to release some of this energy. It was a weird feeling being mentally exhausted and physically pumped simultaneously.
"I'll see what I can do. Could you hold for a minute, Mr. Lambert?" she asked, but I knew she was going to do it anyway so I agreed. I played with my hair at the nape of my neck as I watched the second-hand on the wall clock tick by round and round. Time was nearly always my mortal enemy. I never had a watch and only estimated how long I was doing something because I hated to know how many minutes had passed from something and how many minutes there were still ahead until something else happened. I just don't like it. To me time's an illusion and a prison and a distraction. I don't need that on my plate. I could tear my eyes away from the jerking line, though, much to my displeasure. The only thing that broke me from its trance was the waiting music stopping and an older man's voice coming through my phone.

"This is Doctor Mitchell."
"Good afternoon, this is Adam Lambert." I was running of out ways to greet people.
"Ah! How are you?" he asked merrily. There was a sort of an echo on the other end and I figured he was in his tiny office.
"I'm doing pretty well," I mumbled, scratching my neck.
"And how about Leila?" he went on asking.
"Well, that's what I called about. I wanted to hear your opinion," I sighed, sitting down on the loveseat below the window on the wall opposite the door.
"Of course; what do you need my opinion on?"
"Well… I've been calling around, and I've got to see her today, and from what I hear recently with what I already know I think she's going into Stage 7." Just saying that made a tiny rock in my throat form but I pushed it back, coughing through my nose.
"I do trust your judgment, but could you tell me what you've observed?"
"Basically, everything overall has been getting worse. She's getting lost and doesn't know what time it is, she doesn't remember anyone, really, and she even thought I was an imposter after a few seconds of being here." My eyes started to sting and I took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling fan. "The only thing that hasn't progressed into something more seriously yet is her swallowing. Though she's a lot slower with moving since the last time I checked up on her."

"Well… this isn't easy for me," the doctor said with honest sympathy, "but from what you've informed me of I think you're right. And if what we both think is correct, I'm sorry to say that she should go to a place where they could give her 24-hour treatment and care." I really, really did not want to hear that. "You should probably start deciding where she should reside as soon as you can. May I suggest a hospice or high-level assisted-living?" I pinched the inner corner of my eyes, pushing out the little dabs of tears that were starting to form as I answered.
"I'll find something. Thank you, sir," was all I managed to say, sniffling once. He signed off as well, leaving me cold and vulnerable there in the extremely lonely room. I tried to breathe evenly for a while to calm myself and refrain from crying, swallowing again and again to get that lump out of there. Now this was the moment of truth. Would I have the guts to leave my mother in a different place while I work and go on with my life? I felt that I should have already had a backup plan for this. Now my negligence is turning this into a bigger problem that it should be. I needed to talk to someone. I wanted to vent. Somehow I didn't want to call Hay; for some reason it didn't seem right to. Something was drawing me away from him and to another name. I had no idea why my fingers suddenly tapped "Tommy" into my phone, but I was grateful that I had asked for his number a few days back.

As I was calling him I found the ring to be getting extremely annoying.
"Hi, this is Tommy, who is this?" Tommy answered, causing me to smile at this naturally soothing voice.
"Hey, Tommy, it's Adam," I sighed in relief, lying back on the small couch again with my feet hanging off the side. I closed my eyes as I listened to him speak.
"Oh, hey, Adam," he sounded surprised but in a good way.
"Tommy, can I ask your opinion on something?" He paused.
"Yeah," he eventually said, a little bit quieter and more timid. I thought it to be endearing. I already know how to warm him up, though.
"My mother has Alzheimer's"—I heard him make a small noise of sympathy—"and I need to move her into another home. Can you think of any place? I really want it to be somewhere I can trust."
"Well, why doesn't she stay here? I mean, you could always see her and I could take care of her for you… if you'd want that." I let myself laugh some, picturing him blushing like I was sure he was doing. But it didn't make me forget about the proposition he had made.
"That is brilliant. I don't know how I didn't think of it before!"
"You must have been worried. That's not something easy to go through, and I'm assuming you just found out today, so that doesn't make it any better," he commented with understanding.

"You make it better," I teased, truly happy that decided to call him.
"Stop it," he warned.
"No, you stop. Let me thank you, okay? And to make things clear, I would actually prefer it if I knew it was you to check up on her when I couldn't."
"Oh…" he sounded flattered and still like he couldn't take a compliment without being modest.
"So how does this all work? Who should I talk with to set this all up?" I asked, looking at my pen and paper but not wanting to get up.
"I'll do it for you," Tommy answered quickly without hesitation. "You don't need that stress. The only thing you'll have to take care of is that you'll get a call on Monday or Tuesday confirming it." My heart was touched. "Now go on and rest and don't worry. I've got this for you," he said in determination.
"I wish I was with you to give you a hug, but I'll just save it for when I see you next. Thank you so much, Tommy, you're really amazing."
"Alright," he laughed shyly, "now go on. I'll talk to you later."
"'Kay, bye Tommy."
"Bye, Adam."

Now I was becoming a lucky man.