Henrietta has nervous problems. She is just a nervous person at heart and always has been. Maybe it’s because, despite her nice pleasant, (most of the time), disposition, she is the worlds most negative person. I can walk into her room with a huge smile on my face and dancing eyes, signs that anyone else in the world would take to be good tidings and say, “Guess what?!” And she will pull a horrified face and practically tear up before replying, “Oh my God, what’s happened?” This is just Henrietta. And I’ve quit trying to “fix” her… as she is obviously broken. Permanently.
Well, lately she has had a severe problem with itching. It has been decided by everyone, nurses, caregiver provider, doctor, and most importantly ME, that it’s just her nerves. Since there is absolutely nothing wrong with her skin at this point, I mean NOTHING, I have told her repeatedly, over and over and over that this is all it is. It goes away as soon as I give her half an Ativan. OK, not immediately, but in 10 to 15 minutes or so. She knows this yet she still insists that she has to have her entire body slathered with ointment and lotion. To “fight off the itch”.
Tonight I finished putting her to bed and was about to turn off the overhead light and she was telling me thank you and good night and she loves me and to tell her son she loves him too. This is all standard stuff and we do this every night and I tell her all the same thing basically. Tonight she laughed and said “Tell him his itchy mother says she loves him.” And then as I was about to shut the door she said, “Eh, Krissa, I said ‘itchy’, not bitchy.” And then she just died laughing.
Sometimes she makes me remember that I really do love her. And I guess as time has gone on, loving her has gotten to be less and less of a coping mechanism and easier to do just because.
Most of the time. 
