A phone call from far away. “Can you come? She needs help.”
“I tried once, she left. She’s bull-headed.”
“She needs you.”
“I’ll be there next week. I have tickets to Larry, the Cable Guy.”
“Forget about it, come now.”
(That should have been my first clue.)
“Here’s the new case, you gave me,” I told my supervisor. “I have to go to West Virginia.”
“It’s already assigned to you,” she replied.
(That should have been my second clue.)
After sixteen hours, I arrive.
“Do you want to take her with you or shall we put her in a nursing home?”
“I hate to put my mother in a nursing home, if I’m able to take care of her.”
The judge orders it and my mother is now my new daughter. We load up the car with three ill mannered cats and one ill mannered elder and head south to arrive on Thanksgiving Day. No one comes to dinner, but the house residents.
At first it’s not too bad. We take turns fixing her breakfast and lunch and I hurry home to fix dinner. No school, so weekends are hers.
January and back to school. She stands in doorway to office and hums or sings to drive away the Muse.
(A major clue! Remember last time she was here and your grades dropped?)
She comes in from the bathroom. She can’t talk right. Oh My God! She just had a TIA.
“Do you want to take her with you AND guarantee 24 hour care or leave her in a nursing home?”
“I hate to leave my mother in a nursing home, if I can take care of her. I’ll hire somebody.”
My home is filled with Rehab therapists, occupational therapists; nurses; caregivers; cats that defecate on my couch; and an old lady, who doesn’t know who I am most of the time.
Hurry home from work. I’m running behind, but I need to take care of her.
My school work is calling, but she is humming louder.
My pool is turning green, but she needs me.
My housework is behind, but can’t get it done.
I remember a quote from a class I took many years ago. “The rescuer always, always, always becomes the victim.”
She’s calling, she needs food. How did I become a prisoner in my own home?