I thought that this past summer was a fluke. I thought there is no way people can really be this irresponsible. I thought they were just old and didn’t realize how things were done. The answer is that they really are just irresponsible.
Let me explain what has been happening over the past year. Actually, the past year and half. In August of 2022, my then 90 year old dad fell. He hit his head. He had to drive himself to the ER. He was fine, but it made him realize things needed to change. Not for him, but for my mom. My mom is unable to drive. She has not been to a store since February of 2020. My dad did all of the shopping. Not only did he do all of the shopping, but all of the cleaning of the tri-level house. At 90, he was still mowing the lawn and shoveling the driveway. He was so very fortunate to find an amazingly kind man to help him out with that stuff so that he didn’t need to do it all the time. I’m fairly certain [J] won’t ever know how special he was (and still is) to my dad. After the fall, my dad realized that house was too much for them to take care of. He and my mom started looking at places close to here. First, they looked into single story apartments. Then, my mom said that if she was going to move, she wanted to move somewhere they would cook her meals. That got them looking at independent living places. In our town, we actually have several options. My mom was against everything. She didn’t want to move. We kept explaining that they couldn’t stay in the house. I had told them if they are moving into an independent living place, I didn’t care if they wanted to find someplace up by where they lived instead of by where I lived. An apartment would have been different. The biggest issue was that if anything happened to my dad, my mom needed to be taken care of and I couldn’t do that 45 minutes away when I have a family of my own to take care of. But, independent living now is almost like assisted living back in the 90s. There would be people around to care for her
Literal months passed. They looked at a bunch of places, but my mom refused to pick any place. She kept saying, “I don’t want to move”. I finally gave up and figured nothing was going to happen since from October until February they did nothing. At the end of February of 2023, I went to visit for my mom’s birthday. I mentioned that my daughter would be dancing at one of the places that they looked at. I again brought up that they need to move. My mom once again said, “I don’t want to move”. My dad though, he immediately got on the phone and called the one place that he liked best. He sent me home that day with a check for a deposit on an apartment at one of the independent living places in my town. They set a move in date for April 11.
In that month, my dad and I organized movers and real estate agent for their house. My family went up to help pack two weeks before the move. My dad had almost all of his room and bathroom packed up. My mom hadn’t done one single thing. In fact, she had accumulated more things. We decided to pack up the kitchen stuff. We went through everything, I mean down to the last fork. My mother, who hadn’t cooked an actual meal in almost 2 years at that point, got rid of 6 items. She wanted it all. “I might need it someday when I get the feeling back in my hands” (sidenote, my mother has not had feeling in her hands since 2019….it’s not coming back) My dad patiently tried to explain that they need to downsize and she can’t take it all. Her response? “Well I want it”.
Fast forward to 8 am April 11. Movers were to come at 9:00. My dad had packed up all of his bedding, towels, some dishes and silverware. My mother had nothing packed. Nothing. She was packing up a box of bathroom stuff while the movers were in the house taking stuff out. I wish I would have taken pictures because it’s hard to explain, but my parents left the house like they were going on vacation, not moving out. They left food in the fridge. They left pictures on the shelves. They left documents with their personal information on the fridge. There were things in the cabinets and trinkets on the shelves. They left mouthwash and hairbrushes int eh bathrooms. They left dirty laundry. Yes, that’s correct, dirty laundry. My mom, who had a month to pack, not only didn’t pack, but also left 4 baskets of dirty clothes in the basement.
They made several trips and took some more stuff a little at a time, but by June, when the house hit the market, I had to go clean it all out. Me, not them. I spent the last summer I had with my son 45 minutes away cleaning out my parents’ house. Again, I wish I would have taken pictures. It was gross. I actually wore gloves while cleaning it. Found out that my mom is a hoarder. My dad just covered it up. We donated numerous carloads of stuff. We gave things away. I had a garage sale. I did nothing with my children over summer break because I didn’t have time. I had to be the adult and clean up the mess that was left. Finally, we just left stuff in the house and our agent wrote it up in the contract that anything left was the buyer’s responsibility. It was my entire summer. The house sale was finalized in September, so I thought things would finally level out.
In here I need to insert that I during all of these months, I’m doing million other things. I’m taking care of my family. Going to 8th grade graduation. Taking the kids to Cedar Point when I can. Getting my parents set up with new doctors. Taking my mom to the doctor and the neurologist. Getting her an official diagnosis of Mild Cognitive Impairment and finding out she does not have dementia. Setting up and taking my mom to hair appointments. Getting my parents set for voting in a different county. Going to see them multiple times a week to get them settled in. Taking one kid to dance and tennis. Trying to get my dog out for walks since her paws were healing. Being insulted each and every time I would see my mother. Listening to her tell people, in front of me, how horrible I am. Listening to her tell people how horrible my dad is (the man who drove 45 minutes each Sunday to sit in an empty house for 3-4 hours so that she could go to her church). Trying to stay sane, which failed miserably.
At the beginning of September, I took my mom to the neurologist for a check to see how the new medication is doing. The appointment gets mentioned for two reasons. First, to bring up that since my parents moved, I had to start a new mantra and I text it to my friend before having to deal with my mother. “I will not lose my shit”. [A] is a very patient, calm person. So, she puts up with me when I give her play by plays of what’s happening at my mom’s appointments. I text her constantly so that I am able to uphold my mantra. This particular appointment, the doctor was running late. By the time we got called back, I had been with my mother for 2 hours. This is probably a good place to add that I don’t have a lot of say to her anymore. I try to tell her about what the kids are doing and I get criticized or they do. I try to tell her about my life and I get criticized or she puts some negative twist on it that makes me paranoid. I try to talk about world events, but she’s never cared about those. I try to talk about the weather and she just complains that she’s cold, even if it’s 90 degrees. The only safe topic is my dog. I love my dog, but cannot talk about her for two hours. So, there’s this uncomfortable silence when we get called back into the room. We sit there for about 5 minutes and she randomly asks me how I’m doing. I’ve been with her for over 2 hours and she’s just asking me how I am? But I digress….the doctor comes in and within 8 minutes of him being there she has told him, no less than 5 times, how awful my dad and I are and how we always yell at her. This is the important part. He shut her down. He told her that it may seem like we’re yelling because she’s hard of hearing and we’re having to talk loud and repeat ourselves. He said that we obviously are trying to take care of her since I was there to help her out. He told her that it’s nice to have people that care about you. She shut right up. Not once in the rest of the visit did she say my father and I constantly yell at her. About 10 minutes later, we were talking and I brought up something I had noticed to the doctor, my mom jumped on the defensive and told him that it’s hard to learn people’s names. I calmly told her that I completely understand that and I’m horrible with names, but I wanted him to see the big picture. She then tells him, “See, they treat me like I’m stupid”. He shut her down again. He explained to her that it’s good to have family come in so that he can see all sides of what’s happening instead of just what she tells him. He said that I did not say she was stupid or imply it. He told her I was simply explaining observations and concerns, which is a good thing. This, again, shut her up. I would love to say that this was not the first time someone stuck up for me in front of my mom, but it was. Normally when she would say stuff like that, people kind of laugh it off, and say, “oh, that’s not what she’s doing” and then my mom would say something like, “they always treat me like this”, and people sort of back down, even if they see it’s not true. (To be fair, she’s very careful who she says things in front of. She will not insult me in front of Husband. She will, however, call me fat and selfish in front of my children every chance she gets.) Never have I had anyone, let alone a stranger, not back down from her and stand up for me or my dad. Someone finally saw through her victim act and called her out. This appointment was important because it was the start of something in me. I had finally been seen by someone on the outside.
About a week or so later is when the first bombshell dropped. I got a call from [J] (seriously, I don’t know if I would have made it through the move without him). He told me that my dad was beside himself because my mother had not changed her sheets since they moved. Note, April until September is 5 months. Now, with Mild Cognitive Impairment comes forgetting stuff. My dad wasn’t sure if she didn’t remember she didn’t change her sheets or she just wasn’t doing it. I called her and found out that she just didn’t want to. I then proceeded to get bitched out about how she never wanted to move and how my dad and I make all the decisions and don’t care what she wants and she will do things when she wants. Let me state, that didn’t go well. Not after I spent 5 months cleaning up her mess, listening to how horrible my dad and I are, and her not lifting a finger to do a single thing. I informed her that she needed to grow up and stop playing the victim. I told her that everyone bends over backwards to do everything for her since she refuses to do a single thing and all she does is whine about how awful we are. I told her that maybe we yell at her because she refuses to do anything at all to help herself. This is all stuff she needed to hear, but, of course, I’m the one feeling bad when I get off the phone. The next day, I went over there and told her I was changing her sheets. She acted like the conversation from the previous day never happened and told me how wonderful I was and how much she appreciated it. I determined the only way it was going to get done was for me to do it. I told my dad I would come every two weeks and change the sheets. He was beyond grateful. It was at this point that I decided what I’m doing for her is actually more for my father. If I could take some of the pressure off of him.
About a month and a half goes by and it’s smooth sailing. My mom was being pleasant to me, which was extremely weird. I thought that maybe my going off on her about taking responsibility sunk in. The next bombshell came on a day where I took her to get her hair done and asked her if she wanted to go out for coffee because she was so pleasant. We had a nice time. It was almost like it was 20 years ago. But, I should have known not to let my guard down. We got back and we are talking to my dad and he says, “now if only we could get her to do her laundry”. What? Turns out, in 6.5 months, she only washed her clothes once. I, calmly, explain to my mom that she needs to wash her clothes and it’s unsanitary. Once again, I get bitched out. As does my dad. Same song and dance. We don’t like any decisions she makes. In unison, my dad and I say, “You’re not making any decisions”. I am then also told that she has stopped going to any sort of activity and sits at the kitchen table all day long. I leave and immediately call her doctor. I explained I feel like she may have depression and might need medication. The doctor agreed and got her in the very next week. At the appointment, this doctor also shut her down when she started to bad mouth me and my father. This doctor doesn’t even know my father, when she found out that my dad, up until the beginning of October, was driving my mom 45 minutes to go to church and then sitting around for 3-4 hours, told my mom how kind he was. When my mom started to tell her that he refuses to go to church with her so he wouldn’t have to sit around, she told my mom that it’s his choice not to go and it was nice she offered, but he’s not taking her to the local church and she should try to get more involved in that church. I actually almost cried. My mom was started on Zoloft and had “homework”. She needed to do her laundry and participate in at least one activity a day. The following week, I went over and told her I was putting a load of clothes in the wash and she was to fold them and put them away. She didn’t fight me. That week, I started 3 loads of clothes for her. My dad put them in the dryer after they were done being washed and then my mom would fold them and put them away. Progress, even though she still wasn’t taking the initiative to do the laundry on her own. (Sidenote, she had so much laundry that we did not get caught up on it until February). After two weeks on Zoloft, we all saw an improvement. Even my son said she was actively engaged in conversation, which it had been years (I wish I was exaggerating on that one) since she actively spoke and listened to my children.
Things ran fairly smoothly. I still had to change the sheets and start her laundry, but my mom was going to more activities and enjoying her new church (which before Zoloft, she didn’t like). At the beginning of December, I took her to the doctor for her med check and told her it’s working. Doctor told me that if it seemed to stop working, just to call and they’d bump it up with no visit necessary. Great! Things were on the right track. My dad was living his best life-exercising daily and going to a ton of activities. I should point out that the insults didn’t stop. One would think they might because of her medication. No. But that change that started at me at the neurologist appointment grew. A lot of the insults, I’ve turned into inside jokes with my family and friends, but right around December, I started to realize (yes, it took me this long) that I don’t need to take that. So, each time I would go to see my parents, I would text [A], “I will not lose my shit” and she would tell me I’ve got this.
For Christmas, my parents determined that my mother could not make it up my stairs to come over. We decided that we would do Christmas Eve “dinner” with them. My dad did not want a full dinner, but wanted some ham and then some “snack type” foods. We took over ham, cheese and crackers, potato salad, and some other odds and ends. I don’t even really know how to describe all of the things that transpired during this event. I feel like even if I wrote every last thing down people’s jaws would drop. Here are the highlights. My mother made several racist jokes that no one found funny and she was angry that we didn’t laugh. She told my daughter that it was a “literal shame” her parents didn’t take her to church. To this, I told her I guess I’m just going to hell and my dad told me he’d save me a seat. Needless to say, my mom didn’t find that funny, but my dad and I were cracking up. She never asked my children anything about themselves, but went on and on about her “granddaughter from church” who is older than me and who hasn’t visited her once since she moved. She insulted the food that we brought and then me for not bringing a real meal, even though I brought more than what I was even told to bring. I also need to point out I noticed something was off about her hair. It looked dirty. And it got me starting to wonder if she was washing it, but I definitely didn’t ask because I would get all sorts of crap for that. All in all, it was such a weird experience that my kids immediately started talking about it all when they got in the car. It was nice that my little family was able to take it all and laugh at it, but it also makes it so no one wants to do it again.
At the beginning of January, I had a hair appointment. At this appointment, I asked my stylist, who is also my mom’s stylist, to ask her when she came in if she’s been washing her hair. I told her it was looking kind of gross. I told her that if I asked, I’d get crap, but if she asked, it would be fine. Two weeks later when I took my mom in, [E] asked my mom how many times she’s washed her hair since the last time she saw her. Now, I was prepared for her answer. She told [E] the last time it was washed was when [E] washed it. Now, my stylist is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet. Without being prompted, she says to my mom, “But you’ve showered since then, right?” This, I was not prepared for. My mom’s answer was no. Third bombshell dropped. I nearly lost it. [E] calmly asks why and she replies she’s scared to fall. [E] then asks can’t my dad help her. She responds with “he won’t help me”. I somehow managed to not blow my top with that comment. My dad would definitely help if she asked. When the appointment finishes up, I thank [E] for asking her all of the stuff. While I’m talking to [E], my mom is complaining about how awful I am to [E]’s mom. Good times. Even with that, I offered to take her to lunch. When we got to the restaurant, I got yelled at about where I had set my coat down. I got criticized about what I ordered. When we left, she asked me if I got enough to eat. I said, “Yep!”. That was my exact word. I even said it in a positive tone. She then fired back, extremely angrily, “You’re just like your father”. She then spent the remainder of the drive muttering to herself how she’s tired of all this shit. I’m sure reading this, people are thinking I have to be leaving something out. I’m not. I ordered a fruit cup. Got shit about only eating a fruit cup. Got asked if I had enough to eat. Said I did, and got a completely inappropriate reaction. Even if I had said I didn’t get enough to eat, the reaction that I got would have been completely irrational. When I dropped my mom off, I went in and talked to my dad. He was aware she hadn’t showered in months (months!!!) but didn’t know what to do about it. I told him about her irrational response and he then tells me that she has been bad mouthing him, in front of him, to everyone in their building. He told me that we just have to accept that she’s always going to be bitter and angry and it’s only going to get worse.
I went home and emailed her doctor. I told her that I think her Zoloft needed to be upped. I told her she was no longer showering and I had found out she was no longer participating in activities. The doctor agreed that her dosage should be raised. It took me 4 days to gain the strength to go back and see her. I informed her that she will be showering every Saturday night for church on Sunday. I didn’t ask. I told her that dad would be happy to help however he could. I told her that if she was sleeping, he would wake her up. I told her it was not an option. I then told her that her medication dosage had been increased because she had stopped doing basic tasks again. I told her that the doctor agreed she needed a little more. She was beyond angry with everything I was saying. How dare I go behind her back and talk to the doctor. How dare I tell her she needs to bathe. She once again brought up how my father and I don’t like any of her decisions. I once again said she refuses to make any and not being clean is not an option. I explained that she could get infections and it’s just downright unsanitary to not bathe. I told her that if it continues, we would have to have someone come in and bathe her because I can’t and won’t be there to do it when she’s perfectly capable but chooses not to. That was a Friday. The following day, I called my dad and reminded him she needed to shower. Sunday, while she was at church, I went to see my dad. He told me it all went well. She showered with no complaints and no help. He had asked her what she wanted him to do and she told him nothing. So it was not that she was not capable. It was that she just didn’t want to.
Unfortunately, our biggest setback to date happened that following Saturday, February 3. I got a phone call from my dad that my mom had fallen and they were taking her to the hospital. I knew she had broken something. No, she did not fall in the shower. That was everyone’s first question. She fell on her way to dinner. Sure enough, she broke her hip.
I had to stop here. The events of the last 8 weeks have been so stressful that I had to take a 4 day break from writing. Even thinking about everything that has transpired jumbles my mind and makes me shut down. I had a plan to go into detail so people could see what I’ve been dealing with, but I can’t. Instead, I’ll give some highlights.
Let me start with not everything in these past 8 weeks has been bad. In the past 8 weeks, I’ve deepened my relationship with my father. We have had many conversations that have helped us understand each other better. During these conversations, I’ve also found out a lot of things he’s been dealing with regarding my mother in the past 4 years. These conversations have left me feeling justified in my thoughts and actions. Not only have my father and I strengthened our bond, but I have also come to develop a new relationship with a cousin, who happens to live in my town. She is actually my dad’s cousin’s daughter, but it is still nice to connect. In fact, Husband and I are going out to dinner with her and her husband this evening. Through this journey, I have found people who have my back even though they don’t know anything about me. In the past eight weeks, I’ve had more people stand up for me to my mother than ever before. Monster has formed a deeper relationship with my dad because he’s now able to get one on one time with him. In 5 days, this will all change. I’m not ready to deal with what that change is going to mean for the relationships that have been built, but I know they will not continue to grow. I know that these past 8 weeks are all we really get. I’m saddened by this, but I’m glad I got these weeks.
All that being said, these past 8 weeks have also made me realize something very important. I don’t deserve to be treated like shit. You can love someone and care about what happens to them. But no one deserves to be treated like crap, especially when that person is doing all of the work and giving up their own life to try to make yours better. I have learned that it is OK to walk away, for as long as you need, and as often as you need. I have learned that just because someone is family does not mean they are owed anything more than other people if they treat you worse than they treat strangers or than strangers treat you. I have always believed that you need to be kind, and I have learned that the kindness will come back to you in ways you didn’t expect.
Let me try to put some of the past 8 weeks into words. I will start with the night in the ER. Before that night, I would have never called my father a patient man. He loses his temper. He’s always in a hurry. He has low tolerance for people who can’t see outside of themselves (which is actually ironic given who he is married to). I have never broken my hip, but I would assume there is a lot of pain. I don’t expect someone who broke any bone to just sit there and not complain of pain. But there’s a threshold of complaining anyone can take. My mother, even after being given morphine, was praying to God to just take her. My father, for two hours, stood my her side and held her hand. He would tell her he knows it hurts but she was going to be OK. She would tell him he didn’t know how bad the pain was (let me back up and say that this man had not one, but two hip replacements, so he’s got some idea. Not the extent of a break, but he’s had some hip pain) She was then put on yet another pain medication along with morphine because she said the pain was so bad. At about the two hour mark of nonstop moaning and praying to die (I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not), my dad snapped and told her she has had pain killers and she would just have to suck it up. I was impressed that he made it two hours. If it wasn’t for me texting friends all night, I would have lost my mind a long time before that. Now, some people would read this and think, “you need to show compassion”. We both did. But imagine being the person standing by the bedside of someone you love and they are praying to die because of a broken bone. “Dear Lord, just take me to ease this pain”. Imagine hearing that and knowing the pain that the person you love is in is temporary. In fact, imagine knowing that they aren’t actually feeling much pain because of the amount of pain killers they are on, yet they would rather die than take some suffering before they can get healed. It would take a toll on anyone’s patience. When they went to get her ready to transfer her from the ER to a room, my dad told me about when she was in the hospital another time. The nurses came to him and told him that she kept asking for more and more pain meds. They told him that she had maxed them out and they didn’t know how she was feeling anything at all. That’s how low her pain tolerance is. To get back to that night, my dad is a saint. When we came back into the room, they were asking her where her pain level was. She said a 4, but the moaning and praying to die didn’t stop. If all that was a 4, I would certainly hate to see what a 10 would be.
The following day, she had a hip replacement. The doctor said they would have her up and walking no later than Monday. I asked, “But what happens if she can’t”. He looked at me funny and told me that she would. I repeated my question. Here’s why: I know my mother. He told me that the PT would then make a suggestion for a rehab facility, but he had no doubt she would be fine. I simply said, “OK”. The following day, the PT comes in. She explains they’re going to get her up and walking. I ask about a rehab facility. She tells me that most of the time they aren’t needed but she’d make her recommendation on what she sees. I sit back and get ready for the show. I already know how this is going to go. Actually, it was ever a bigger shit show than I imagined. The surgery was on her left hip. Left. I will be repeating that. The PT told her that she was going to have her stand up. She told her she was going to move her left leg, so all my mom needed to do was move her right leg. My mom immediately starts saying, “Ow, ow, ow, I can’t!” The PT told her not to do anything with the left leg. My mom tells her that she can’t move the right one. The PT gently tries to tell her it’s just like getting out of bed at home. She continues that she can’t move her right leg. The PT looks at me and I simply shrug. I knew this was going to be how it went. The PT has to get someone else in to help just stand her up. They get her standing with a walker after way longer than it should have taken to get her up. She is standing for about 5 seconds and says she can’t stand anymore. The PT looks at me again and I give her a “told you so” look. She makes my mom stand for about 20 seconds total before my mom starts really complaining about all the pain. After my mom is settled in bed again, the PT looks at me and tells me she’s going to recommend a rehab facility. Shocking. I do all of the adulting. I get all the paperwork together to get her into a facility. All the while, my mom is throwing insults at me and my dad in front of all the doctors and nurses.
At one point, I tried to help raise the bed because my mom insisted that it was too low. I tried raising it and couldn’t. I got a nurse in to help. She couldn’t raise the bed either. She’s looking at the bed, another nurse comes in and is talking to her. I am talking with the first nurse about the bed. My mom stops the conversation with the nurse she’s talking to, looks at the nurse I’m discussing the bed with and says, “They always talk about me because they know I can’t hear things.” The nurse replies, “She wasn’t talking about you. We were talking about the bed”. She snaps back at the nurse, “Well, I’m in the bed”. Both nurses are silent and just look at me. Let me say that in 8 weeks, I’ve shrugged at more people than I ever have in my life. I would love to tell everyone that this attitude is due to the fall and pain, etc. It’s not. This is life with my mother. Later that same day, I come back with Monster and she tells me how glad she is that I’m there because she needs help changing the channel. I get the remote and start to explain it. She then tells me she can’t move her arms. What? Nothing happened to your arms. She then snaps at me that she has an IV. Whatever, I’m done arguing. I’m just going to change the damn channel. If only it were that simple. I then spent 30 minutes with her yelling about television shows. I don’t have cable. I don’t watch TV. Sorry that in the 100 some channels you have I don’t know what’s on every station. She makes my son hold a card out in front of her so she can read it, even though he offered to read it to her (because she can’t move her arms). We leave and he says to me, “Did you notice she scratched her nose numerous times?” Boy! Why did you not call her out and tell her how great it was that she could move her arm again! He tells me, “She likes me, so I don’t want to mess with that”. It’s moments like that in which I’m so glad I can laugh at this situation. I mean it’s all ridiculous.
We got her moved into a rehab facility after 4 days in the hospital. I went to see her every day. Her second day there, I was there in the morning and she had pancakes. She told me she couldn’t cut them. I asked her why. She said her hands just don’t work. I asked her who cut her food before she fell. She told me she did. I told her then there’s no reason she couldn’t do it because not a single thing had changed with her hands. She was pissed and bitched me out. Guess what though, she angrily cut her pancakes. Maybe you’re thinking why wouldn’t I just cut the pancakes and be done with it. Because if you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile. She is happy doing nothing for herself.
She was in the rehab facility for almost 8 weeks, so I’ll skip a lot of the drama. I had to be very specific and tell people that they needed to ask her which hip hurt. They thought I was crazy until the moment they asked and she told them her right. Surgery was on the left. Once her PT found out she was just quitting because her right hip was sore, he made her push through it. He was her least favorite person there. He was so mean. Yep. Mean. Making her actually do something. I do need to back up just a bit. Since her move, and I mean move, not fall, she has been telling people she has no home. Since her fall, with people asking her, “don’t you want to get back home?” , it’s been worse. “I have no home to go to”. People look at me and I shrug. So many people have tried to say home is where the heart is. Home is where your husband is. She doesn’t care. In fact, if the roles were reversed, my mother would not have spent hours upon hours every single day just sitting with my dad because she doesn’t care. Sounds harsh but it’s true. Getting back to three weeks ago. I’m sick of hearing her say she has no home. How ungrateful can a person be? How does someone get so angry and bitter that you don’t care that you have your loved ones with you and you care more about a physical building? I go for my daily visit, because yes, I was going daily. I was telling her how Monster set up a bed rail for her for when she gets home. Normal people would be grateful. Not her. She went off about not having a home. I got up and left. I told her I’m done listening to it. I still adulted. I had people I needed to talk to about her care and accomplished all of that, but I refused to go back into her room. I then went to see my dad. My dad hasn’t seen me cry since I was in high school. I broke down sobbing. I told him that I needed a break. I told him I don’t need to take all the hate and anger from her. He told me he completely understood. He told me to take some time and just take care of my husband and kids.
So I did. I took 11 days off before I saw her again. She had an appointment with the surgeon. She can’t go alone and my dad won’t go with her to appointments. That leaves me. I walk into her room and she says, “Hi. I see you decided not to brush your hair today.” My hair was wet and curly because I had just taken a shower. Who would want to put themselves in a position to be insulted every day? Husband asked me later that day at what point do I just turn around and leave. I told him I couldn’t because someone needed to take her to the doctor. And here’s why. We get to the doctor’s office. The nurse is asking her questions. “What’s the pain like today?” My mom says it’s not bad but it’s not great. I say, “In the left hip” The nurse gives me a funny look (do we see a trend?) and replies, “Yes, in the left hip. That was the hip that had the surgery.” My mom then tells her, “Oh, the left hip is great! There’s no pain there.” The nurse looks at me and I shrug. Anyone who goes in for a post op visit knows that the doctor is asking about the piece of the body that was operated on. But my mother twists it to make it sound worse than it is. Doctor comes in. Same doctor who told me she would be up and walking the day after surgery and thought I was crazy for asking what if she’s not. He asks her about her hip. Same response she gave the nurse. I, again, say, “left hip”. She again says how great the left hip is but she has pain in the right hip. I tell her we’re there for her left hip and I get yelled at by her that she knows and how everyone thinks she’s stupid but she wants to tell him that her right hip hurts. He stares at her for a good 30 seconds not saying anything and then slowly tells her there’s nothing they can do about the right hip except have surgery. She says she doesn’t want another surgery. He then tells her then she needs to work through that pain. He switches up to try to get more information about the hip she actually had surgery on. He’s telling her how it’s healing well and she should be able to do all the things she did before,especially if there’s no pain with that one. I then really pissed her off by saying, “From a surgical standpoint, is there any reason she can’t use a walker to get to the bathroom instead of a wheelchair?” He said no. I asked him to write that down. I asked him if there’s any reason she can’t get up from bed and into the wheelchair on her own. He said no. I asked him to write it down. I asked him if there’s any reason why she can’t roll over on her own and needs someone to roll her onto her side (because this actually happened the night before and she complained that the nurse who rolled her over wasn’t gentle….why is someone rolling her over?!?!) He gave me a very funny look with that one and said no. I asked him to write that down. He wrote it all down on her medical orders. He then looked at her and told her that the more she’s doing and up and walking, the easier it’s going to be. She looked at him and said, “What if I don’t want to?”
And there it is. That statement to the doctor sums it all up. I kid you not, it was silent for a good minute before he said, “Well, you have to want to”. That’s where people don’t get it. She doesn’t want to. She wants someone to get her dressed. She wants someone to roll her over. She wants someone to shower her. She wants someone to wipe her butt. She wants someone to do everything for her. She doesn’t want to do a single thing for herself. And that’s where people get confused. How can someone not want to do anything? Great question. I don’t understand it either, but it’s what it is.
Last Tuesday, I got the phone call from the rehab facility that insurance would be stopping coverage on Friday. I was headed to NY with my daughter for some time away during their spring break when I got the call. They told me I could appeal, which I had done at the beginning of March, but she was no longer making any progress. I told them I would discuss it with my father, but I didn’t see a point in appealing. I called my dad. Told him what was happening and he agreed that we shouldn’t appeal because she’s not making any more progress. She was going to move into a transitional facility for 10 days before heading back home, so I told my dad that he needed to talk to three people and set things up to get the ball rolling for her transfer Friday. I told him exactly who he needed to talk to and what he needed to find out from each of them. My daughter and I got home late Wednesday night. I called my dad and asked him what the plan for Friday was. He told me he guessed she would be moving to the front building (the transitional facility) Friday. I asked him if he talked to any of the people I told him to set things up with. He did not. She was supposed to move out Friday and it was not set up how she would be transported, if they were able to get her into the front building Friday, or any of the care we needed to set up. I spent my last two days of Spring Break getting everything arranged and then moving her And I’m going to have to move her again.
She has been in the transitional building for 6 days and has made zero improvement and zero effort to do anything for herself. The point of this transitional place was to get her more used to being on her own again. Less help, more independence, but help available if needed. While writing this, as if to really drive the point home, my dad called me and was telling me he is going to move her home early. He said she’s not doing anything over there. He then said that (at 10 am) she wasn’t even dressed and was waiting for someone to come dress her. I asked him why. I told him there is no reason she can not get dressed on her own. I told him that her arms work just the same as they did 8 weeks ago. To be more accurate, everything is the same as 8 weeks ago. In fact, her left hip is better than it was 8 weeks ago. My dad said he knows but she won’t do it. She got a taste of people doing every last thing for her and she doesn’t want that to change. She does not go to the bathroom by herself. She does not get dressed by herself. She does not get out of bed by herself. She won’t get out of the wheelchair and walk except for when PT comes and forces her. My almost 92 year old father is going to have to do everything for her and it’s not because she’s incapable, it’s because just doesn’t feel like it.
In the meantime, the stress has not only been taking a toll on my mind, but on my body as well. I ended up at the doctor (I’m fine, except my very high bp) just to find out it’s getting older and extreme amounts of stress. I have also been juggling life with two teeangers. Getting one kid ready to graduate and head off to college. Trying to find time to be with my kids and my husband. Trying to find time to visit said college the kid is going to so he gets practice driving there. Working on all the financial stuff that comes with a kid going to college. Having a two birthdays and a graduation coming up that I’ve done nothing for. In fact, I still need to get Senior pictures done. All of that has been pushed aside so that I can try to deal with someone who refuses to help herself. Someone who insults me and bad mouths me to anyone who will listen. It’s going to be rocky for a while, but I will come out of this stronger. I will because I know I deserve to be treated with respect and I will no longer be a punching bag.