A Nursing Home Visit

  A Nursing Home Visit

   The visit is bad because my mother is not there anymore. 

   Bad because we can't talk anymore. Everything we say or do now is about sickness or 

   a current  crisis.

   Bad because she's in a sad place surrounded by sad people. 

   Bad because the woman in the room next door cries out "help me, help me" all the time. 

   My mother doesn't hear what people say to her. Or it doesn't register. So she thinks people just 

   come and go and don't say anything. Don't explain what they're doing. 

   She doesn't make any attempt to help herself. 

   She lays in bed or sits in her wheelchair. 

   When I get there, an unopened dinner tray is on her bedside table.  She's always sick and

   doesn't want to eat.

   She smells bad. 

   She is sitting in shit. 

   An aide comes and cleans her up and then her room smells so bad I can't be in it.

   It's bad because there's nothing to do now but stare at her and feel really really sad.

   It's sad because the light is gone and all that's left is waiting.

Getting up

Ugh. Bleech. Arrrgh. 

Can I possibly go another day?

Believe me, I'm trying really hard to climb out of the pits of depression. At least I think I am. Sorry for wallowing and wailing, but it's been a monumentally awful half-year.

Actually, July through August was mostly work-related angst. The North Carolina economy went on the skids and the university system took a beating. My program was canceled, which pretty much means my career was canceled. One year out from being eligible for even early retirement with reduced benefits. I'm still hanging-on, staying off the unemployment queue, but waiting for the ax to fall. That's a lot of anxiety.

But, starting October 30, the s--- really hit the fan. Something happened to my poor mom and it's been a elder-care roller coaster ever since. ERs, hospitals, ICUs, nursing homes, closing her apartment, packing, storing, medicaid applications, etc. etc. And telling the family that I needed help or was desperately depressed has resulted in -- nothing. Well, I did hear that I deserved to be "sainted." Sadly, I'm paranoid enough to just think everyone's chuckling and saying "glad it's not me."

Okay, that's ugly.

This weekend saw me reduced to a state of bedridden misery. Seriously, I spent the entire day in my nice dark room, under the covers. My outlook resembles a high def picture of the great plains. Nothing as far as they eye can see. Not even a hill, a tree, or a broken down old house. No, I don't want to go on a weekend get-away, a cruise, a vacation, out to dinner, out to the store, or even down the street.

photo by Hansrico

This is not me, and I don't like it.

So, I'm going to try to do better (which is only one letter different than try to do bitter). I'm gonna try some gratitude with a dash of forgiveness. A sprinkling of self-confidence.

Maybe hope will rise up on the horizon and the coming six months will be a whole lot better.