I always knew I wasn't her favorite. I don't share the same interests, I don't like the same books or movies as her. Every time she would want to talk about any such interest, I would feign interest, give her my polite face, smile and nod when needed. Every once in a while she would confront me; ask me if I had any interest in the same things as her. I would truthfully tell her that even though I did enjoy reading books, I didn't revel in the historical facts of the Native Americans, who settled what land, or even which group of pioneers did what. The latter was most shocking to her, for if you were a true Latter Day Saint, you MUST have interest in the history of the church.
My mother came to live with us in March of 2019. She had lived in Taylorsville, UT, most of her married life and after before I snatched her away from her lonely bliss. She was very sick. Two Novembers previous she endured a Pulmonary Embolism which left her only enough energy and breath to sit in her recliner in her living room. Her house wreaked of dog feces and years of uncleanliness. It didn't help that she
was, is a hoarder. Weeks before the PE, she was atop a picnic table on her back balcony trying to heave an umbrella from the table when it suddenly gave way causing her to fall backwards, (almost over the railing) and flat on her back. Many months later, after my much convincing, her doctor discovered she had broken a disc in her back. That incident alone, was in my opinion, the downfall of my mother.
The first few months of having my mother in our home were tough. Not just, yeah, this is tough but we can handle it, tough. It was, cry in my pillow every night, my life is forever ruined, tough. She owns two dogs. Two, shitty (literally), yappy, barky, won't get out of the way, sheds and shits all over your house, dogs. We discussed with her when she still lived in her Taylorsville home that she would likely need to get rid of one or both of her dogs before she would be able to come live with us. She planted her feet firmly to the ground and told us the dogs DO. NOT. GO. She refused to move in with us if she had to get rid of her dogs. At this point I was driving to her home one to two days a week to clean, care and manage her affairs. She was getting ready to undergo a serious Double Bypass Openheart Surgery along with a new surgery to open up the arteries that had been blocked by her PE. How could I possibly care for a mother post-surgery when she lives 54 miles away??? So we caved. Sure mom, bring your dogs with you. Afterall, this will be temporary.
Openheart surgery+ was performed at the end of May of 2019. All went well and she was transferred to a Rehab Center close to my home in Salem. I went to visit her every day the 14 days she was in the hospital in Murray, then visited her each day she was in the rehab center in Salem. She made it clear that she disliked being at the rehab center and wanted to be out as quickly as possible. To her, the staff was mean because they made her exercise and the food was too salty. She referred to the facility as "Jail."
My mom was finally released on July 4th, recovered and finally able to settle into our home. She was no longer needing to take frequent breaks to sit and catch her breath. She got to a point that she could drive herself to physical therapy in Provo. Meanwhile, I was adjusting to my new routines as a stay-at-home mother and daughter. I had tried to quit my job as an orthodontic assistant so I could devote my time caring for my mom, but the doctor I work for graciously let me take as much time as I needed and return when I could. When we moved my mom into our home in March, was about when things started getting hairy for me. I was gaining weight, having bouts of anxiety and restlessness. While my mom lived in the hospital, thenrehab, I started focusing on my health, joined back up with Optavia, checked in with my coach regularly, and was starting to see some joy in the day to day events. Funny now that I look back on the hospital days and the chaotic schedule I was following yet still had the motivation to stay on track with my diet. I was seeing results with my diet, my clothes were fitting better, I became a coach myself, and started having a good group of clients. I thought I found my niche. I told my coach that I dreamed of becoming a life coach as well as a health coach. If I could survive the storm of having my sick mother live with me, I could do anything! This is about the same time the dogs stopped crapping and peeing all over my floors. We were getting them bark-trained, I was taking them on daily walks. We were getting into a good place. Then my mom came home. Everything reverted. Come December, she was in for knee replacement surgery and everything changed even more.
The knee surgeon met with us just before she went in for surgery. "Are you going home after surgery, or do we need you to go to a rehab center to recover?" My mom spoke right up. "I will never to go to that hell again! I'm recovering at home." My blood ran icy-cold. How do I make this NOT happen? When the doctor came to speak with me shortly after surgery began, I laid it all out for him. I CANNOT have her at home to recover. Number one: the dogs will jump on her lap and thus her new knee, and two: I can't wait on her hand and foot when I have four kids at home and two dogs. How do I do that??? He assured me he would make sure the discharge nurse would know the plan and he personally would tell her it was his idea for her to go to a rehab center. Perfect! Thank you, doctor! The next day, we were discharged, and loaded into my car with their best wishes for recovery. No sign of the damn doctor! The next seven days were filled with sleepless nights as I camped out on the couch and woke to her trying to get up to use the toilet every two hours. She managed to sleep throughout the whole, sun-shining day, but come 5:00 pm and every two hours throughout the night, I hoisted her out of her chair, got her in front of her walker and walked her to the toilet. I wanted to slit my own throat.
When we moved my mom out of her home, men and some women from her LDS ward showed up to graciously help load her things into a trailer to be put in a storage unit. Bless their sweet hearts, for most of them probably contracted emphysema or asthma after performing that service. Most of the things at first were brought up to her to be screened whether they were to be kept or sent to the DI. After about an hour of showing my mom bottles and bins of rocks she had collected throughout her life, along with other nonsense she wanted to keep, the collective, unspoken decision was that the group would decide for her what was to be kept and what was to be thrown out. Did I mention my mom is a hoarder? One of her most favorite hobbies is collecting rocks and finding fossils and arrowheads. She is dumbfounded that I don't share this same interest.
So when I say that I ruined my mother's life, I honestly believe I have ruined her life. I have taken her away from her precious home that she could no longer care for on her own, I have alienated her by taking away some of her favorite bad habits, and I don't love her puppies. People I talk to say that I should simply get rid of her dogs and get her a new, smaller, hypo-allergenic dog that doesn't crap or wet all over my carpets. I say to those people. You. Have. No. Idea what I'm going through and what kind of person she is. I will elaborate on specifics on later posts.
Comments
Post a Comment