Wherein I become a raging lunatic and Mom cries
I tried to sit down and write this entry yesterday, but I was still too upset to make sense, so I scrapped the whole thing and decided to sleep on it. I'm hoping that it was the right choice.
So, the good news: Mom's rapidly declining mental state seems to be driven by an untreated bladder infection. It seems she started to notice the symptoms in September, but didn't do anything about it. She didn't want to go to the doctor.
Our trip was able to put a lot of fears about her health to rest, actually, so that it is good. They tested everything; all of her major organs and blood flow in the vessels that feed those organs. Mom got a clean bill of health except for a small heart murmur that he'll check in a year and this damn bladder infection.
Unfortunately, when all hell broke loose yesterday, I used the information to attack her. I'll get to that. Soon.
Monday night was hard. I had spent three and a half hours in a chair with nothing but raisins and water waiting while they ran every test they could in one day. By the time we were done I was tired, sore, and a little dehydrated. I only had one bottle of water with me. Anyway, we head home and Mom starts harping about me calling the car dealership on her behalf to get her money back. I tell her, calmly, that it's nearly dinner time and I've had a long day and it wasn't going to happen. I was tired and my heart monitor kept going off and I wanted to rest. We eat dinner and Mom finds out the money from the insurance company had been put back in to her account, so she starts demanding her medicine. (We were going to have to pay for all of her medication this month because she was broke. I'd already told her I would go the next day, after Adam's lunch, and take care of it for her.) I tried to remind her of the earlier plan, but she's focused. She says since she can pay for it, it should happen RIGHT THEN.
At this point it's nearly seven at night and I was exhausted. My Sudafed had already begun to wear off and I was too weak to stand. I told Mom this, but it started a new argument; she wanted to borrow the car. Um, no. She's not on the insurance and just because her mental state is (probably) brought on by a bladder infection, it didn't mean that she was reliable.
Mom started freaking out, screaming and crying and I got upset. Like a tool, I got re-dressed and got in the car. I dropped off her prescription and came home. It was going to take them thirty minutes to fill the prescriptions and I didn't want to sit in another chair.
Once I got home Mom started insisting on going with me. I politely told her that I had reached my limit of "Mom time" for the day and it would just be better for everyone if I went alone. That went over like a lead balloon, and, once again, we were screaming at each other like animals.
Adam interceded and told Mom that he was going to go with me and Mom was just going to have to stay home. He at least cowed her enough that she pouted in her room long enough for us to leave, pick up her medication and then come home.
By the time everything was sorted out, I was drained. It was eight at night (I usually go to bed around nine) and my stupid heart monitor was going crazy. Adam made me check my blood pressure while we were there and it was low, even with all of the stress, and Adam was pretty pissed. He was thisclose to freaking out on Mom.
The next morning I was just unable to shake it. I couldn't believe that I'd spent months fighting with her, begging her to do something about her confusion and memory loss, and it could have been fixed with a three dollar antibiotic. So, yes, I started the day with a chip on my shoulder.
Mom was up early, washing sheets because she'd wet the bed, again, because of this bladder infection and every time she passed me she had something negative to say.
"What's your problem? I'm the one who's sick."
Around lunch she called up, asking for her Xanax and it set me off. When all of this started Adam counted her pills and she had a 12 day supply at 3 a day. She was OUT?! It had only been a week.
This is the part of the story where I look really, really bad. Just saying.
I started screaming and throwing her bottles down the stairs. I told her that I didn't want to be involved in this anymore and we'll just tell the psychiatrist that I'm done with her. I wiped my hands of her and she could be the boss of her own life. I'd wasted enough time and energy on her.
It was pretty tame, sure, but it started a flood. Mom, even seeing how upset I was, wouldn't let things go. She just kept pushing, yelling up the stairs and wanting to talk things out. I went down to her room and read her the riot act. I told her she wasn't capable of doing anything and expected everyone to take care of her because she was Bipolar. At that point I broke off in to a rant involving telling her that she's not the only person in the house with a mental disorder and I'm not given a free pass for anything and it was ridiculous that she feels like she should. I spent years in therapy getting a handle on my Borderline Personality Disorder, doing whatever it took to overcome the scary statistics so that I could have a family, a husband, people that loved me and relied on me. I didn't just lie day and say, "This is the best I'll ever be because some shrink told me people with my disease are useless."
I screamed that I spent months being worried about her when I should have been focused on my health and my baby and it could have been fixed if she'd just done the ONE THING we ask her to do in exchange for living here - take care of her health.
At some point I was yelling about there was nothing wrong with her and she needed to stop waiting to die because it was going to be a long wait and the rest of us were tired of being in a wait station for death. We'd had enough death in this house.
There was something about being tired of how selfish and inconsiderate she is about everything. I mentioned that she was fifty-five years old and she should know how to work through a problem without always jumping to trying to run away. Every time we've brought up a problem in the past she's immediately gotten her feelings hurt and said she'd move out, rather than doing anything to fix it, or find a compromise. I was tired of always being the bad guy in everything. I told her that when she does that it feels like a manipulation so that we don't fuss at her anymore and we have to focus on her feelings. And it was bullshit.
I tried, despite the screaming and crying, to keep everything present. I didn't bring up crap from my childhood, other than to say that I'd spent my whole life making sure she was okay and didn't realize that I was the one that was going to have to explain to Nora why Nona wasn't up to playing with her, or when Mom started screaming about how horrible it is to live her. I did say that there was more to taking care of herself that just taking her psych meds.
She kept apologizing and crying and I have no idea if anything sunk in. I know that it wasn't presented in the best way possible, but sometimes life is like that.
I started having contractions and my monitor was going nuts and I spent the rest of the day on the couch. I can't let her get me this upset. I know that. I know the reality of what stress does to a pregnant woman, because of how stressed I was during my pregnancy with Mazzy, and my job is to stay calm and take care of us. It's just so hard.
Today is a new day and I'm trying to maintain the peace. I have to, right?
So, the good news: Mom's rapidly declining mental state seems to be driven by an untreated bladder infection. It seems she started to notice the symptoms in September, but didn't do anything about it. She didn't want to go to the doctor.
Our trip was able to put a lot of fears about her health to rest, actually, so that it is good. They tested everything; all of her major organs and blood flow in the vessels that feed those organs. Mom got a clean bill of health except for a small heart murmur that he'll check in a year and this damn bladder infection.
Unfortunately, when all hell broke loose yesterday, I used the information to attack her. I'll get to that. Soon.
Monday night was hard. I had spent three and a half hours in a chair with nothing but raisins and water waiting while they ran every test they could in one day. By the time we were done I was tired, sore, and a little dehydrated. I only had one bottle of water with me. Anyway, we head home and Mom starts harping about me calling the car dealership on her behalf to get her money back. I tell her, calmly, that it's nearly dinner time and I've had a long day and it wasn't going to happen. I was tired and my heart monitor kept going off and I wanted to rest. We eat dinner and Mom finds out the money from the insurance company had been put back in to her account, so she starts demanding her medicine. (We were going to have to pay for all of her medication this month because she was broke. I'd already told her I would go the next day, after Adam's lunch, and take care of it for her.) I tried to remind her of the earlier plan, but she's focused. She says since she can pay for it, it should happen RIGHT THEN.
At this point it's nearly seven at night and I was exhausted. My Sudafed had already begun to wear off and I was too weak to stand. I told Mom this, but it started a new argument; she wanted to borrow the car. Um, no. She's not on the insurance and just because her mental state is (probably) brought on by a bladder infection, it didn't mean that she was reliable.
Mom started freaking out, screaming and crying and I got upset. Like a tool, I got re-dressed and got in the car. I dropped off her prescription and came home. It was going to take them thirty minutes to fill the prescriptions and I didn't want to sit in another chair.
Once I got home Mom started insisting on going with me. I politely told her that I had reached my limit of "Mom time" for the day and it would just be better for everyone if I went alone. That went over like a lead balloon, and, once again, we were screaming at each other like animals.
Adam interceded and told Mom that he was going to go with me and Mom was just going to have to stay home. He at least cowed her enough that she pouted in her room long enough for us to leave, pick up her medication and then come home.
By the time everything was sorted out, I was drained. It was eight at night (I usually go to bed around nine) and my stupid heart monitor was going crazy. Adam made me check my blood pressure while we were there and it was low, even with all of the stress, and Adam was pretty pissed. He was thisclose to freaking out on Mom.
The next morning I was just unable to shake it. I couldn't believe that I'd spent months fighting with her, begging her to do something about her confusion and memory loss, and it could have been fixed with a three dollar antibiotic. So, yes, I started the day with a chip on my shoulder.
Mom was up early, washing sheets because she'd wet the bed, again, because of this bladder infection and every time she passed me she had something negative to say.
"What's your problem? I'm the one who's sick."
Around lunch she called up, asking for her Xanax and it set me off. When all of this started Adam counted her pills and she had a 12 day supply at 3 a day. She was OUT?! It had only been a week.
This is the part of the story where I look really, really bad. Just saying.
I started screaming and throwing her bottles down the stairs. I told her that I didn't want to be involved in this anymore and we'll just tell the psychiatrist that I'm done with her. I wiped my hands of her and she could be the boss of her own life. I'd wasted enough time and energy on her.
It was pretty tame, sure, but it started a flood. Mom, even seeing how upset I was, wouldn't let things go. She just kept pushing, yelling up the stairs and wanting to talk things out. I went down to her room and read her the riot act. I told her she wasn't capable of doing anything and expected everyone to take care of her because she was Bipolar. At that point I broke off in to a rant involving telling her that she's not the only person in the house with a mental disorder and I'm not given a free pass for anything and it was ridiculous that she feels like she should. I spent years in therapy getting a handle on my Borderline Personality Disorder, doing whatever it took to overcome the scary statistics so that I could have a family, a husband, people that loved me and relied on me. I didn't just lie day and say, "This is the best I'll ever be because some shrink told me people with my disease are useless."
I screamed that I spent months being worried about her when I should have been focused on my health and my baby and it could have been fixed if she'd just done the ONE THING we ask her to do in exchange for living here - take care of her health.
At some point I was yelling about there was nothing wrong with her and she needed to stop waiting to die because it was going to be a long wait and the rest of us were tired of being in a wait station for death. We'd had enough death in this house.
There was something about being tired of how selfish and inconsiderate she is about everything. I mentioned that she was fifty-five years old and she should know how to work through a problem without always jumping to trying to run away. Every time we've brought up a problem in the past she's immediately gotten her feelings hurt and said she'd move out, rather than doing anything to fix it, or find a compromise. I was tired of always being the bad guy in everything. I told her that when she does that it feels like a manipulation so that we don't fuss at her anymore and we have to focus on her feelings. And it was bullshit.
I tried, despite the screaming and crying, to keep everything present. I didn't bring up crap from my childhood, other than to say that I'd spent my whole life making sure she was okay and didn't realize that I was the one that was going to have to explain to Nora why Nona wasn't up to playing with her, or when Mom started screaming about how horrible it is to live her. I did say that there was more to taking care of herself that just taking her psych meds.
She kept apologizing and crying and I have no idea if anything sunk in. I know that it wasn't presented in the best way possible, but sometimes life is like that.
I started having contractions and my monitor was going nuts and I spent the rest of the day on the couch. I can't let her get me this upset. I know that. I know the reality of what stress does to a pregnant woman, because of how stressed I was during my pregnancy with Mazzy, and my job is to stay calm and take care of us. It's just so hard.
Today is a new day and I'm trying to maintain the peace. I have to, right?
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