If it's not one thing, it's your mother. 2018/08/08

"If it's not one thing, it's your mother." I'm not sure who coined it, but I first heard that from my friend Julie. And ain't it the truth. I've fielded two phone calls this week about my mom. Apparently, she's been having some "behavioral issues". It seems much more like a call I should be getting from a teacher or school counselor - about my toddler to teenager - than about my elder parent. But it's the call I got nonetheless.

"Angry. Agitated. Disagreeable. Violent." Those are the words used to describe my mom as of late. My mom - the school teacher. My mom - who used to wake me up with a glass of orange juice by my bed in the morning. My mom - who stayed up all night on Christmas Eve sewing a wall-sized hot air balloon with a basket full of stuffed animals because that's what I wanted for Christmas. My mom - who used to write me elaborate letters from my tooth fairy Loricita about her adventures in getting to me to retrieve my tooth & leave me some silver dollars. My mom - who used to make beignets for my friends & me when they would spend the night. My mom - who would exclaim "Let's all do tequila shooters!" when my friends & I would come home from college (when we were 21, of course). My mom - the one who wanted to have as many kids as she could, but had multiple miscarriages and was only blessed with me.

I feel like a really shittastic daughter today. See, when I'm there, I don't witness any of that behavior. Because apparently when I'm there, that's the only time my mom doesn't act like that. I visit her about once a week - maybe once every two weeks, if I'm being honest. Brent came with me today, and she was more lucid than she's been, fairly easy to redirect if she got agitated, and enjoyed the live music in the lounge while we were there - smiling, laughing, and singing along. When we got ready to leave, the medications nurse Ingrid begged me to stay a few more minutes. She said she needed to give my mom her meds, and my mom often gets violent when she tries to give them to her. Mom took her meds with a smile and a "thank you".

When I'm not there, my mom takes her roommate's glasses (off of her face), bumps her roommate's wheelchair with her walker to get her to "MOVE!", throws her walker, screams at the dentist to "Get the hell out!", and slams the door in the nurse practitioner's face.  ***The roommate mentioned has been moved to another room. She has a new one. We'll see how long this one lasts.***

It's not that I don't have time to go see her. I do. I can make time. It's that it's gut-wrenching to see her like this. And to know she's acting in ways that would horrify her if she witnessed someone else doing it. And this is different for her. It's a progression of the disease. I told Brent the last time I saw her that I didn't know if she'd make it to the end of the year. The twisted thing is that she could be like this for the next ten.

This is so fucked.