Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend 2

On Wednesday evening, I went with my dad to the grocery store. I don’t usually go these days, but I went this time because my mother had fallen a little earlier in the day. Even though she still uses the scooters there, I didn’t think she could handle going. (I honestly didn’t think she could get outside to the car.) My mom wanted to write a shopping list so that we didn’t forget her food and other items. When she was writing out the list, she wrote a lot of non-words/gibberish.

While I know that sometimes we all have moments of forgetfulness, this shopping list incident plus her inability to communicate clearly and her tendency to forget things makes me very nervous. It could just be that she is getting older and that, because of her various health problems, the insane amount of psychiatric medicine that she is on, and her past history of multiple (over ten) suicide attempts (all overdoses), she is just going to begin losing more and more of her ability to “function” properly. I’m worried that it isn’t. I’m also worried that because she forgets that she is so forgetful and has such trouble communicating that she won’t actually attempt to tell a doctor that she is deteriorating to such an extent. I have this feeling that a trip to a neurologist would help figure out what the hell is going on in her brain, but every single time that I suggest it, she gets defensive and says that there isn’t anything wrong with her. Honestly, it reminds me of the hesitance that Dadada had around the time the doctors said that he definitely had some form of dementia. He swore that he wasn’t losing his mind and that we were all just making it up to make him seem like a senile old man. (We weren’t.) I really don’t want to see my mom go down that road. I really don’t want to be a caregiver of a dementia patient again. It was hard enough when I was little and less self-involved. I don’t think I have the ability to do it anymore and I don’t know if my dad could do it by himself (or with help), and I really don’t want to ever have to think about putting my mom in some place where other people take care of her because I know how that can turn out.

I could just be anxious over her for no reason, but the longer it goes on, the longer I think that I probably have a very, very good reason to be anxious. Unfortunately, I can’t make her go to the doctor. I could go with her when she goes to the doctor, but she could say that I was just being an evil daughter who wants to have her institutionalized and, knowing her, she would say that to protect her own warped view of the world.

I wish that there were some easy solution to this whole thing, but I know that there isn’t and that’s frustrating, depressing, and just plain scary.

About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.

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