Tales from the infirmary

I sometimes wonder if the world is trying to break me. With my fathers death, my mothers alzheimers, and my husband’s terminal diagnosis. Then add on the pandemic and trying to care for the two of them.

It seems especially so because my mother fell again. The last time it happened I told her that she would be coming to live with me. I thought that would be threat enough that she would use the walker but she refused. When she fell, I was true to my word. However I think I lost in that. I did come to realize how bad she is. And she is bad. It’s nonstop urine. I don’t know how she can pee so much, but here we are.

As much as my husband would like us to and as much as I don’t want to put her in a home, it is time. I cannot feasibly care for her. My husband takes priority and taking them both to the bathroom, alone, is like a full time job.

I have an appointment to tour a facility on Wednesday. With any luck there isn’t a waiting list.

This morning my husband fell. I feel like such a fucking failure because I could have caught him and I didn’t. My brain was half asleep and I watched, helpless, as he fell into the closet. He hit his head on something (my guess is on the edge of a barbell) and started bleeding.

Panicked I called 911, because a head injury after falling was what killed my dad. Well, my mother inability to dial 911 was what caused him to go brain dead. Primarily, inaction. So, in that knowledge I called for help.

As it turned out he is fine. (For the time being) I didn’t need to call but I’d rather make sure than do nothing.

I’m not ready to lose him.

This is why I think someone or something is trying to break me. It was at this age that my father had a nervous breakdown and ended up in the hospital. He was disabled forever after, most of my life. And I worry that the cycle will repeat itself with me.

Hopefully, I’m made of tougher stuff.

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