Guilt Part 2

I've been sick for a week with a nasty chest infection that stole my voice a week ago and has yet to return it. I've finished the first round of antibiotics but I'm still nowhere near 100%. Last week, I went to bed Friday night and I got up on Tuesday when my husband went back to work. I missed choir practice, I missed singing at 3 funerals and I generally still feel crappy. I had to do interviews with a Kermit the Frog voice or by email.  The Kid thinks it's hilarious. Me, not so much.

It's March Break (spring break) this week, so the Kid has been home. She's pretty good at keeping herself busy, but is still feeling a bit neglected because I've also had lots of deadlines.

The big problem, and therefore source of the most guilt, was the inability to go see my mom every day. I was there last Friday, and then I didn't go again until Tuesday. My husband and daughter did a Dairy Queen drive-by to mom on Saturday, but no one but home care went on Sunday and no one at all went on Monday because home care didn't show up.

• I know I needed to get better, and the only way to do that is to give up and be sick first.I haven't been this ill in years.
• I knew that this illness was the last thing my mom needed to deal with right now. she has chronic asthma and this thing goes straight for the bronchial tubes.
• I found out on Tuesday that mom forgot to take her pills on Monday because home care didn't come and hand them to her. I forgot to remind her to take her pills because I'm used to home care making sure she took them. Still beating myself up over THAT one.
• Mom didn't eat properly all weekend. She kept saying she was having beef and corn, which I know for a fact had been in her fridge since the prior week. It was also still there on Tuesday morning, so I'm not sure other than Ensure what she consumed all weekend.

 I'm struggling. My mom is still a mom, and she was worried about me because  did I mention I havent;'t been this sick in years? She kept telling me to stay home and she was fine. I talked to her multiple times a day and she seemed to be managing fine.

Now I know how she spiralled so far so fast. She seemed to be managing fine the last time too. The difference is this time, I know what to look for. I had to go out last night, so my husband and daughter dropped over because her housekeeper is coming today and I forgot to leave the cheque when I was there on Wednesday. My husband checked when he got there, and mom hadn't remembered to eat yet, so he got her dinner. It takes a family to support an elderly parent and my husband has really stepped up this week when I fell to illness.

I know that I needed to stay home if I had any hope of getting better. I'm still beating myself up because I couldn't take care of mom and make sure she ate, was taking her pills etc. I haven't gotten there every day this week either because it's March Break and I have deadlines and a kid home from school.

I'm feeling really squeezed today. Time to step away from the keyboard and spend time with my kid...after we go check on my mom.

It's the Dementia talking...isn't it?

My aunt has been here from Ottawa for a couple of days, so I've had a bit of a break from daily visits with mom. I actually stayed home all day on Thursday for the first time since January 25. I visited Aunt Clairol, and then I actually took a nap...bliss.

Yesterday was my husband's birthday, and he hadn't seen my aunt yet, so we popped in after dinner for a little visit. I gave mom the option of saying no, but she said come ahead. We should have stayed home.

I took all the information over on Friday about Long Term Care facilities. My mom has been fighting what is increasingly a losing battle with Squamous Cell Carcinoma-that's skin cancer in plain terms. She's had a number of these things surgically removed from her right forehead, and went through 6 weeks of radiation. They've grown back and they're spreading. Since her return home from hospital, she hasn't felt well enough to make a trip to the doctor's office, but it is rapidly becoming a necessity. The case manager thinks that the cancer is the tipping point for whether mom needs a retirement home or a nursing home. It could also turn out to be palliative care, which by-passes both. The case manager also thinks we should only move mom once. Hurry up and wait until we know what stage the cancer is at.

Mom has been touring a bit with the walker. I call it Myrtle. My aunt calls it Sally, but either way, it's becoming a companion rather than an adversary. While she still won't use it in the apartment, mom is slowly coming to terms with using it when we leave the apartment. Baby steps in the right direction, but I'll take them. Mom was tired last night, and I knew from being there earlier that she was having a "fuzzy" day-she was more confused than usual.

My mother has always been "plain spoken." She doesn't believe in sugar-coating what she has to say. For example, when she phoned me in Toronto to tell me that my father died, the conversation went like this. My mother never called me at work, so I knew something was up.

"It's your mother."

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"It's your father."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, he's dead."

Mom is blunt, but she isn't usually mean. Lately, though, as the enormity of the changes in her life close in on her, she's been lashing out at the only person she can-me. I know that these circumstances have rocked her to the core. I know that she is scared and confused and uncertain, and mom doesn't do any of these emotions. She is reacting to the circumstance, and since I'm the one creating a lot of it, I'm taking the brunt of the reaction. .My brain understands all of these things. My heart is struggling with the vitriol.

See, I've been there, done that. My dad was a loving, gentle man who would have scoffed at being called a feminist, but instilled in his daughter the belief that she could do anything. While he never told me he was proud of me, he apparently told the world at large. Unfortunately, my father also battled alcoholism, and he was a nasty drunk who heaped emotional abuse on me. He wouldn't remember the next morning what had been said, but I didn't have that luxury.

Maturity brings wisdom and understanding. The teenager didn't have the life experience to understand that the alcoholic dad and sober dad were too different beings. I've been able to forgive, although I still struggle with self-esteem and when I'm discouraged, it's hard to ignore the voice in my head telling me I'm a  fat, stupid, ugly, lazy slut who will never amount to anything, even though I am none of those things. (Okay, I have to own fat and I'm not sure about ugly these days.)

Mom couldn't remember what she said last night when I talked to her this morning, which tells me it was the dementia talking. It still hurts. I have to acknowledge the emotion, but attribute the source.  There's more to come, I suspect, so I'd better invest in some kevlar. It's going to be a bumpy ride.