Driving to CostCo.
In Sequim.
Stopped dead.
In a ROOOOOUNNNNNDDD-a-bout!
Who STOPS in a roundabout? Isn't that oxymoronic?
Then again....... it seemed oddly apt.
It occurred to me, whilst being stopped in the roundabout, that I've been stuck in sort of a crazy roundabout for the last two weeks. No, wait. The last month. For those of you just tuning in, it went something like this:
1. Mom plummets into a downward spiral of anxiety and paranoia.
2. Mom does not sleep for days at a time.
3. Mom falls repeatedly.
4. Denise does not sleep for days at a time.
5. Denise loses most of her patience around the third sleepless night.
6. Dad loses all of his patience after the first sleepless night.
7. Much cussing is exchanged at random times throughout the day over ridiculous things.
8. Mom is evaluated for assisted living facility, which refuses to take her because of her medication/anxiety issues. Assisted living facility recommends Geriatric/Psychiatry unit in Tukwila.
9. Mom goes to G/P unit in Tukwila.
So the last two weeks has been a strange mix of introspective-thought-talk. "WHEN will Mom come home?" "WILL Mom come home?" "SHOULD Mom come home?" "Would Mom KNOW if she was home even if she DID come home?" and sprinkled in between all of those questions was the persistent, guilt-smothered, nagging of "Do I WANT Mom to come home?"
I've been thinking a lot about the week before Mom went to Tukwila, and how my body was in some sort of weird auto-pilot mode--give Mom her pills, change the Depends, check the bandages, empty the commode, feed Mom, clean up Mom, check the Depends again, check Mom again, give Mom her pills, and on, and on, and on. It's like that last week of school before summer vacation, when all you do is study, review, study, review, study, review, and maybe you eat, but you don't really do it consciously, it just sort of magically happens because you're completely immersed in study, review, study, review, study, review.....
That's how it was for me the week before Mom went to Tukwila. And when I came home afterwards, the house was eerily quiet. It wasn't a quiet house. It wasn't a relaxing house. It was the same house. It was just the house without Mom.
It hasn't changed much in the last two weeks. Her absence is palpable. She's here, but she isn't. It's a relief, but it isn't. I should have more free time, but I don't. I should be able to relax, but I can't.
I keep thinking, "I should prepare for when she comes home." I ask myself, "Will it be harder? Should I hire more help? Will I be able to work my regular job when she comes back? Will she be able to walk? Will I still have to feed her?"
I think through all the different scenarios in my sleep. I'm haunted by the sounds of phantom bells, and distant wails that aren't there. I dream one night, that Mom is standing in the garage holding a carpetbag and rocking back and forth, back and forth, and then her arms outstretch in front of her and I go to grab her so she doesn't fall and my hands move right through her ghostly flesh. Like I said, she's here, but she isn't.
Then today, a conference call with the doc and case worker from Tukwila. Mom is stable, they say. She's off two of her meds, they say. She scoots around in a wheelchair, they tell me. She sleeps six to seven hours most nights, they add. They strongly suggest, without actually strongly suggesting, that she requires more care than I alone can give her. They ask if they should discharge her to an assisted living facility. I want to say "yes. " I want to say "no." I want to say something that means both, like......"nyes" or "yeno." I ask for some time to talk with the family. They say, "No problem."
The family consensus is to discharge Mom to assisted living.....at least for now, so she can get the care she needs. The family consensus appears to be that.......it's time. Time for the house to be just a house. Not a house without Mom.
The consensus comes after a few hours of conversation with Dad and one phone conversation with my brother. It's kind of an Occam's Razor moment--the simplest solution (discharge Mom to assisted living) ending up being the best one.
The consensus comes and goes and I find myself walking, then sitting, then getting up, and then going to another room for no particular reason, and then repeating it all again. Something strange is sinking into the zone of reality in my brain and I'm having some serious trouble processing it.
My brain says to me, "Wait......that means..........you won't have to check the Depends, feed the yogurt, empty the commode, get up during the night..."
I ask my brain, "Wait.......what.......does........that.......mean????"
I'm stopped in the roundabout.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
ReplyDeleteI hope this is what it means for you-
My heart aches to hear your sad and beautiful plight, Denise. And, I wondered as I read, perhaps the reason your mother stabilized at the G/P unit is because, though she could not convey it otherwise, your mom wants to be in a care facility, because she sees, somewhere deep inside, how hard this is for everybody. Maybe? I mean, I don't know what is best for you, but it isn't hard to imagine that, even in her state, she would want what she feels is best for you and the rest of her family. Just a thought, that I hope, in the airing of it, is somehow helpful and not hurtful! And, I know lack of certainty must be so very haunting--I hold space for that, for you. Hugs, Denise. My hero! Love, Erin
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