November 13, 2021

Approaching a Potential New Problem

I finally broke down and made a doctor appointment for my stomach pain. For the past, maybe, 6 months I have had this bizarrely intense pain on the left side of my stomach. It’s not ongoing. It only really hurts whenever I sleep on it for an extended time and roll over to the other side. When I do finally turn, the pain is so intense. But it is just for that single action. Otherwise I haven’t had anything else that would require a doctors appointment.

That is, until a few days ago.

I tried to eat “low carb.” What I repeatedly fail to understand is that this particular diet doesn’t work for me. I’m just not built for (or in the right headspace) to deeply deprive myself of a somewhat necessary component of my diet. Plus I love my sugar too much. I’m basically a humming bird in a human body.

After attempting this diet I got “the sads” and binge ate the entire day. I had McDonald’s for two of the meals and then ate dinner out later that night. Since then my stomach has been uncomfortable. As a result, I finally broke down and made an appointment.

I had hesitated for so long because honestly… I don’t have the time. And part of me has an assumption already in mind of what it could be or even mean. That I really don’t have the time for and not knowing means I don’t have to do anything for it. I hope I’m wrong, obviously, but the way my life has been going the last two years I wouldn’t put it past fate/god/life/my luck to fuck with me again.

Fingers crossed it’s just my flair for the overdramatics. We won’t know until midway through December.

PS I sometimes wonder if people think I’m making this shit up. Like… I’m doing it for attention.

November 10, 2021

First dose, second round

I finally broke down and requested antidepressants. Seeing as how my therapist had informed me, during my session, that I should be careful how I answer his next set of questions because if I answer incorrectly they would have to hospitalize me. While I appreciate the warning, on the other hand I’m wondering what if I really did need to be in the hospital? Now he’s told me to be cautious and dishonest to keep me from the care I need.

In this same session he set me up with a psychiatrist that could prescribe me pills. In the big scheme of things I don’t want to be medicated. In the past they have made me feel indifferent to life. I neither cared or hated it. I just was “meh” about everything. When I finally spoke with the doctor I informed her of the medications I have previously taken that have not worked. We avoided those. What we did settle on was a prescription I had started when I was 18 and was removed from for some unknown reason.

When I was 21 my then psychiatrist just up and decided the meds weren’t working and we started something else. It was then that we began this parade of pills that made my life more miserable than the last. His penultimate diagnosis was bi-polar type 2 (different than his initial “depression” conclusion) but those medications made me so unbelievably uncomfortable. After my third prescription failed to produce any results other than my discomfort I asked him if we could stop. He listened and I appreciated that.

For the past few years I haven’t needed to take anything for depression but now all I can think about is dying. Only recently has it moved into, “…if I were to do it, how would I?” And I know that’s not good.

Today I pick up my prescription for Lexapro. And let’s hope it helps me now like it did when I was 18… Except for those pesky sexual side-effects. The inability to reach climax was… not fun.

October 6, 2021

Adventures in Adult Babysitting

When I was around the age of 14/15 I made a promise to my mom that I wouldn’t put her into a home. It was the same agreement she had made to her mother, my grandmother. And I wanted so much to keep the tradition alive. Then life became exceedingly complex.

Two weeks before I signed the papers for her to become a resident, she had fallen. It was the third time she had that month, and after the second fall where I had explained if she didn’t use a walker to get around and fell (again) she would move in with me. She flat out refused to use any kind of assistance device and because of it she fell, in the same bathroom my father had fallen in (for his third time that week) and hit his head, causing brain damage and his ultimate death. Every detail of that moment came flooding to my memory. I was livid. So, I sent my husband and brother-husband over to her house, help her up, and take her to our house.

For two weeks I came to a very harsh reality, that she was far worse than I had previously assumed. She can’t use eating utensils, she repeatedly has “accidents,” she can’t bathe herself and can’t even dress herself without assistance. The two weeks that she stayed with us, I had to do all of these things for her. Once they were done she would sit, happy as a clam, in her recliner watching movies. Had she been the only one I was responsible for, I probably would have trudged on to make it work, but that’s not the reality. I also have my husband.

For those who don’t know, my husband has ALS. He was diagnosed a year ago. As it is now, he can do very little for himself. He can still walk and stand, but he requires someone to assist him every time. While my mother was there I hardly got a chance to sit, which is fine, but it was not sustainable. And It was putting a lot of expectation and responsibility on the brother-husband. He may have signed up for my husband, but not some random lady he had only met (maybe) three times prior.

As much as I didn’t want to break my promise, I had to. And even though I have been told, repeatedly, that it was the right decision, all I can focus on is the fact that I did. I am no longer a man of my word. And I hate that.

To get out of that mindset, I sat down and tried to pick out why making such a strong, blanket promise like that is ridiculous. When I made it, I had no concept of adult responsibilities. I was working off the example my grandmother had set, while she lived with us. She was basically my third parent. She did housework, she watched me, she actively contributed. Because of her, I felt confident in agreeing to never commit my mother to assisted living. What I failed to take into account was life. Life is unpredictable and it’s main goal is to try and crush you and those around you. I know that sounds aggressive but when you really think about it, it’s true. Life isn’t a cake walk. It is a series of obstacles we must learn from to continue on to the next set. There is no rest. My mother’s Alzheimer’s is that obstacle. My husband’s ALS is another. I have learned and now we must move on.

On Monday, a month before my birthday, and four days after her own, I dropped her off in a memory care home. The weekend prior, I made every effort to make certain it wasn’t a surprise for her. I wanted her to be aware of the change that was about to occur. But I either failed miserably in explaining it, or she just didn’t understand. Regardless, when the day arrived she was distraught and terrified. There was no escaping the tsunami of guilt that “I just sprung this on her” and abandoned her at her most vulnerable.

The one thing I have learned from my mother’s diagnosis is that, if I ever have kids, I will make sure they know, without a doubt, that if pop-pop goes a little loopy that they should not HESITATE to put me somewhere safe. Even if I ramble on about not wanting to leave my home, I (at my absolute core) do not want them to waste a second debating what I would or wouldn’t want. If I have enough sense in me, in my older years, I will just move in on my own, like my grandmother-in-law.

I know that this is the right thing, and at times I feel it. But getting my heart to understand is something else entirely.

September 28, 2021

Mother Lament

I hate where I’m at, in regards to my mother. This is the most excruciatingly painful situation. Everyday it feels like someone is slowly dragging a long, jagged, knife across my stomach. More than anything I wish it was over. And hopefully it will be soon.

My mother’s want to go home is daily. It doesn’t matter that I have repeatedly told her she’s not going back. Nor does it register that I have specifically told her she will be living in a home, and have even asked her questions about the room arrangements. Either she doesn’t remember, or she refuses to listen and just demands to be returned to her house.

I have told her over and over that I don’t want to do this. I wish she could just stay in her house, but at this point it’s elder abuse. She can barely dress herself, she’s constantly having “accidents” and she can only eat finger foods. Silverware is absolutely out of the question. Should she use it, more of the food will end up on the same top she INSISTS on wearing everyday than in her mouth. The assisted living is the best option for her. And I wish she could understand that.

The other day my mom’s former “baby-sitter” mentioned care.com to look for a live-in caretaker. Little did I know that when I signed up I was creating a job-listing. Since then I have had two people inquire, and now I’m questioning if I should do the memory care facility. Oddly enough, going the in-home route is insanely expensive. Here I thought assisted living rent was astronomical but… this is outrageous. It would be such an added expense for her that she would lose most of her accrued income. All so she could “pretend” she doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.

One of the ways my mother manipulates me is that she likes to remind me that she gave me everything I wanted when I was a kid. Here I thought it was because she loved me. Little did I know it was a mob-boss loan to where one day she would require the debt be paid. And for her, it’s due.

My mother is only going to get worse and eventually will need to be in a care facility. Just pursuing this “in-home caretaker” nonsense will just postpone the inevitable. I need to just rip off the band-aid because the wound is infected and needs proper care. Or I risk losing the limb.