Perhaps the Best Thing I Can Do for My Mother Is Make Gyoza

Yesterday, I was scheduled to take my mother to the hospital in the morning.

I stayed in Tokyo the night before and left early.

Before going to the hospital, I stopped at a day-use hot spring in Kanagawa.

I soaked in the free-flowing natural spring water, restored myself, and then went to pick up my mother at her home.

Kitasato University Hospital is only about a ten-minute drive from there.

In terms of distance, it is very close.

If my mother could take a taxi alone, simply getting to the hospital would not be difficult.

What happens after she arrives is more complicated.

Checking in.

Having blood drawn.

Finding the examination room.

Listening to the doctor’s explanation.

Completing the payment and taking the prescription to the pharmacy.

It is no longer realistic to expect my mother to manage all of that by herself.

⸻

I have been accompanying her to Kitasato University Hospital for about a year.

This time, her appointment was with the Department of Neurology.

Until now, she had mainly been seen by doctors in the cardiovascular department, so this was my first opportunity to speak directly with her neurologist.

I could sense that this doctor was genuinely determined to identify the cause of her condition.

⸻

My mother began taking medication after an incident in which she was taken to the hospital by ambulance.

Around that time, she also developed a strong fear of standing.

Standing has gradually become more difficult, and her condition has continued to worsen.

Her medication had been reduced in an effort to identify the cause.

She had also undergone MRI and MRA scans.

However, no clear abnormality had been found.

⸻

After I explained everything that had happened, the doctor said she wanted to review the MRI and MRA images taken at another neurosurgery clinic about a month earlier.

“Where were the scans taken?”

She asked me, and I gave her the name of the clinic.

My sister had taken our mother there, so I did not know all the details.

The doctor then said,

“I’ll call them.”

She immediately telephoned the clinic while we were still there.

Her speed and initiative surprised me.

She was taking action herself and trying to distinguish between the possible causes.

Perhaps things would develop differently this time.

That was how I felt.

⸻

According to the doctor, the first step was to determine whether the problem was structural or functional.

A broken bone is a structural problem.

A clearly identifiable abnormality in the brain or nervous system is also structural.

These are conditions in which a cause can be found in the body’s tissues or physical structures.

A functional problem is different.

Sometimes tests reveal no clear abnormality, yet a person can no longer perform a movement that was once possible.

In my mother’s case, she may have lost her confidence in standing, as well as the physical sense of how to perform the movement.

If the problem is functional, rehabilitation may be necessary to help her recover that ability.

To distinguish between these possibilities, she will undergo electromyography and an electroencephalogram at her next appointment.

⸻

The next appointment is at 8:30 in the morning.

There is no way we could arrive on time if I drove from Chiba that morning.

I therefore booked a hotel near my mother’s home.

I will stay nearby the night before and collect her in the morning.

The preparations required for each hospital visit are gradually becoming more involved.

⸻

I think we spoke with the doctor for nearly an hour.

No other doctor had spent so much time examining my mother’s condition.

She was given a cognitive assessment.

She also underwent testing to determine whether there had been any decline in the function of her frontal lobes.

The results revealed no major problems.

⸻

Still, there was one moment that concerned me.

The doctor asked,

“What is today’s date?”

It was July 29, but my mother answered,

“July 26.”

She was three days off.

Even so, the overall assessment did not indicate dementia.

Getting a single date wrong is presumably not enough to diagnose someone with dementia.

Perhaps these things simply happen at the age of seventy-nine.

Even so, I could not help feeling a little concerned.

⸻

After the appointment, we took her prescription to the pharmacy in front of the hospital, as we always do.

To prevent her from confusing or forgetting her medication, the pharmacy places all the pills she needs at each time of day into separate packets marked for morning and evening.

Preparing them takes time.

While we wait, we usually go out for lunch.

Yesterday, we had sushi together.

⸻

When we finished eating, I said,

“Shall we go back toward the hospital?”

My mother looked surprised.

“Why?”

“We need to collect your medicine from the pharmacy.”

We returned to the pharmacy, but she still looked puzzled.

“We’ve been following this same routine for about a year, haven’t we?”

I said that, but she did not seem to remember it very well.

The tests had found no major problem.

Yet in everyday life, certain things appeared to be gradually slipping away.

Some things cannot be understood from test results alone.

⸻

I still do not know what will happen to my mother’s condition.

For now, all we can do is continue with rehabilitation.

Even so, her complexion is better than it was.

Her blood test results have also improved.

Recently, she has even begun saying,

“Perhaps part of it is in my mind.”

⸻

That evening, I made gyoza.

I had considered taking her to a good restaurant.

Then I thought she would probably be happier sharing a meal prepared by her son.

So I stayed home and folded gyoza.

It was not an extraordinary act of devotion.

I took her to the hospital.

We collected her medicine.

We ate sushi.

Then, in the evening, I made gyoza.

Perhaps this is what caring for a parent really looks like.

As the night grew late, that was what I found myself thinking.