So I've been reading her things I typically read on the web, or things I've found. Like for instance, Dear Abby. And the occasional Crooks & Liars entry. And, oddly enough, Savage Love. I warned her about the explicitness and the language, and I gave her some background. "You want me to read this to you?" I asked. "Ye-ah," she said, in her patented well, duh tone. So I've read to her about threesomes and masturbation and diaper fetishes and dangerous bondage. I loved hearing her laugh at the idiots.
When I was 19, my mom found out that I was gay (or so I understood at the time -- it took me quite a long time to figure out it's more complicated than that). When she found out, she took me to a counsellor at the Southern Baptist Counseling Center. It turned out to be a tremendously positive experience, with no religion in the sessions (I was very lucky). But my point is that 15 years ago -- give or take -- my mom truly believed that homosexuality was a sin and that I was going to hell. Today, she believes strongly in gay marriage. She finds the fact that gay couples can't adopt in some states to be immoral ("there are too many kids out there that need homes," she said). She's also pro-choice and pro-sex education, and she doesn't think that immigrants to this country should be treated like criminals. She believes in universal health care and eliminating poverty.
Many of these changes happened, I think, because she was a nurse in a rural, low-income health clinic. And before that, she was a nursing student doing rotations in rural hospitals. One of her first patients when she was rotating through a hospital was a woman dying of HIV and tuberculosis and hepatitis. My mom came home absolutely furious because no one but her would treat the woman, and instead of showing compassion to a woman dying alone and painfully, the other nursing students (and nurses on the floor) passed judgment on the quality of the woman's character. My mother believed that everyone deserved to be treated with dignity -- being a nurse reinforced that.
Since 2001, though, my mom hasn't been a nurse. She was injured at work, and after 2 surgeries and serious pain management treatment, she filed for disability and stayed home. I remember someone writing about his grandmother, and how afraid she had become since she had been staying at home watching Fox News and the scare segments of her local news. People who are largely homebound are, I think, susceptible to a shrinkage of their universe, with the outside becoming more and more frightening. Instead of Fox News, though, my mom has become a huge Keith Olbermann fan. My mind was blown.
I came to North Carolina straight from Colorado, and I had with me clothes that were primarily suited to temperatures below freezing. Last weekend, I went shopping with my sister-in-law K for shoes (my doc boots were far too hot), and I found black Converse high-tops (Mr. iGrrrl should be proud). We had a good time, and, as she pointed out, it was a chance for my brother and my mom to have some time together. Plus, K laughed when I said her husband was the personification of entropy. She's the only one of my three sisters-in-law who would get that and find it funny.
Yesterday, I went shopping for jeans with my sister-in-law J. She might be 20 by now, and she's really, really irritating. The universe revolves around her, and she is one of the least intellectually curious people I've ever met. If it doesn't affect her ability to convince my brother to purchase her a pink laptop, it's irrelevant. She's upset by the low pay of police officers (and we agree on that point), but I don't think it would've occurred to her to care if her husband's ability to give her the life she feels she deserves wasn't affected. I seriously worry about the debt load they're carrying. I don't know what it is -- and I'm not asking -- but it concerns me. I'm also annoyed because she doesn't work, but she can't find time to take their dog to the vet to get spayed before she has puppies (the dog is an outside dog, which also bothers me, and she's had no vaccinations -- gah). Yesterday, I realized, successfully shopping for Carhartt jeans, that I really don't like her.
My co-worker told me about a meteor shower last night, and I went out at 1:30 am to see the meteors. It was beautiful and clear and cold, and the milky way shone above me. I saw 12 or 15 meteors in the 30 minutes I was outside. The whole time I was outside, I clutched my cell phone, afraid my mom would need me and not be able to call for me. This is the same co-worker who offered to take care of Rocky when ana comes here. We took her up on her offer, which is astoundingly generous. I hope it works out -- I think Rocky will be happier with some one-on-one attention.
I talked to iGrrrl yesterday, which was good -- it's good to know what's going on in the office, and what's happening outside of this house. A casual friend of mine (more than acquaintance, less than really close friend) really wants me to call her. She works in my building and we talk, and we kind of bonded over our mom's being sick. R asks about my mom on a regular basis, and I ask about hers. Often, she's said to me, "I don't know how you do it, knowing you mom isn't going to get better." I've shrugged and said I just have to enjoy the time we have.
iGrrrl reminded me that R probably wants to see how I'm doing because her mom has been ill as well. That's why I haven't called her. I know she wants to offer me comfort, but I think I'd also end up trying to reassure her that I'm okay, that her mom is going to be okay, and that sort of thing. I just don't have the energy to take care of other people's feelings right now. I'm feeling the same way about calls from my grad school friend, and about all of the calls from people in our town (and my mom's church) who want to offer their help with anything.
I can't tell that latter group that anything is really wrong, based on my mom's instructions. She went to the hospital, she got fluids, she's on some different medications, and she's doing fine. If I didn't tell people that, I'd be dealing with the blue-haired casserole brigade, and I just can't bear it. In the meantime, I answer the phone 5 times a day from these sorts of people. It's draining. I can't take care of other people's feelings right now -- I'm selfish about my energy, which is draining. It's for my mom and for my mom's dog and for me. That's it. Everybody else can just fuck off for a few days.
That's really selfish and wrong, isn't it? People just want to help. They're doing what they're supposed to be doing -- they're showing compassion and offering concrete help. I just don't want it.
My mom is deteriorating. She's greyish, and her eyes look unfocused and off-center. When she's awake, she's incredibly lucid, and even when she's not awake, she hears what we're saying. The hospice nurse called to check in today, and I told her that my mom is still throwing up, and it's almost entirely blood. Her belly is getting larger from the fluid build-up. She's sleeping most of the time. She's having trouble reading stuff on the tv because she can't focus her eyes.
"Bless her heart," said the nurse. "So she's really deteriorated since I saw her Wednesday night."
"Er. Not really," I said. "She was a lot better for you than she was before or after."
"Well, she was puttin' on a real show for me then, wadn't she?" said the nurse.
In my mother's words, "Ye-ah." The nurse wanted my mom to go to the hospital to have the fluid drained off, but my mom didn't want to go. The nurse called the doctor on-call and got some other stuff to do instead. Alternate compazine with the ABHR (the haldol was likely knocking her out). Double her lasix. Add another diuretic. This weekend, if she gets uncomfortable, I'm supposed to call 911 and have her taken to radiology. While we're waiting for transport, I'm to call the hospice nurse on call. I made the mistake of telling her that last bit -- I generally think that more information is better than less information, and I hate lying to her. But now, for sure, she won't tell me if she's uncomfortable. I know she's in pain, but she's not telling me. She grimaces in her sleep, and she pulls at her clothes. She swears to me that, though her back might hurt a little and the sores on her mouth are annoying, she really feels fine.
She was certainly more alert after taking the compazine, and I wonder if Aunt L and Uncle J understand just how badly she's doing. She's vomiting blood. She's urinating blood (I saw it tonight -- it was just blood). I swallow hard when I see the blood coming from her mouth, and I take away her bucket and dump it, rinsing it clean. I don't cry. I don't vomit. I just rub her back and kiss the top of her head and hold her when she's done. I rub lotion on her feet, and I look away when she goes to the restroom, or washes herself in the sink. She's so weak that she allows me to help her to and from the bathroom (only once or twice a day), and she has a lot of difficulty breathing when she exerts herself -- just leaning over to pick up one of the dog's toys is exertion.
My focus is her. And tetris. And IRC. And obsessive reloading of my google reader and husi. I read to her, I talk to her, I try to remember that she's scared and that she doesn't need to be alone.
Tonight, before I came back to the bedroom, she told me to please try to get some sleep. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll call you if I need anything. Just get some sleep."
I told her it was just my obsessive brain. "It's not your fault -- I just get like this sometimes."
It was almost true.
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