I don’t know if I had a feeling it was going to be tricky, or if the phone call the previous evening had subconsciously alerted me to a problem. It might have been a bit of both. I used to be quite psychic about things but since my brain was taken over by trying to run the life of a demented person, I find it hard to think at all.
The central heating has been a focus of general anguish. As my mother has got thinner and thinner and eaten and moved less she has kept the house increasingly more tropical. I’m not good with dried-out sinuses, they are probably the reason for my two week cold that I can’t get rid of. The boiler is not happy being kept on at maximum all the time and has broken down in various ways three times since September. My father had the foresight with a new boiler, installed a few years ago, to get a monthly payment insurance which offers free replacement or mending and should have ensured trouble- free tropical conditions. The first couple of times when I was there and there was a problem, it did. Over the weekend my mother decided to call out the plumber, incurring a cost of £150 and then again when the heating appeared not to be working yesterday. In fact there was nothing wrong with the heating, it had reached the temperature controlled by the hall thermostat and switched off. If anyone had bothered waiting, when the temperature fell it would have switched on again. My mother, however, had felt a radiator, found it cold and decided to ring the plumber and give him a piece of her mind.
It is interesting that folk keen to give away pieces of their minds are sometimes those with the least of the commodity to distribute initially.
In order to give the plumber the benefit of her opinion she needed to find his phone number. This was one of the many numbers my other half spent half a day entering in the stored numbers directory on the new phone a few weeks ago. It was also in the index file in huge writing which I have filled and left beside the phone. My mother. however, ignoring all the clues beside the phone and on the phone, first spent an hour squinting at yellow pages then decided to instruct the carer to find the plumber’s bill. This was a small piece of paper. Sadly my mother keeps every shopping bill, envelope, charity begging letter, receipt, ten year old photograph, thank you letter and sheet from the Saturday paper in piles in assorted rooms.
I think the carer did eventually find the little piece of paper but by then she had become some sort of monster in my mother’s mind. In the phone call last evening she spent most of the half hour phone call castigating the carer. As soon as she hung up, I rang the agency to give them the heads up, so the carer didn’t walk unknowingly into a maelstrom the following day.
From the moment I arrived today I and the carer had become the focus of all out war, haranguing, swearing, shouting and torrents of abuse. I couldn’t eat my lunch because my Barrett’s oesophagus started playing up, eventually all I could do was cough. We got her into the lounge and she proceeded to verbally abuse me for half an hour. I removed my other half by sending him out to buy bottled water and sat near her speaking gently but she repeatedly threatened to strike me, becoming so abusive I had to leave the room. I’m ashamed to say I burst into tears; it took me right back to my childhood, I then heard the carer crying upstairs and went to see if she was all right. She was so upset by the way my mother was treating me, never having heard someone be badly abused before, that I had to calm her and reassure her I was still in one piece. When the other half returned I made an executive decision and we all withdrew to the dining room for half an hour. I had to be sure that my mother would calm down and that it was safe to leave her with the carer. I rang my neighbour to postpone our planned Christmas get together and then we just sat round the dining table and waited. At this point I was glad that my mother had made her wishes known about her life not being artificially prolonged. Had I not known this I might have summoned a doctor with some sedatives and endlessly prolonged the incident as well as setting a precedent for life prolonging measures to be applied during crises. So I told the others what I had decided and we just sat and sat. My other half read his Kindle, the carer played on her phone and I just experienced the action of acid dissolving my windpipe.
She did eventually calm down. Within the hour I was able to make a tray of tea and serve the cake I’d brought. Two hours later it was as though the incident had never happened and the carer was happy to be left, so we departed.
The other carer, who left at lunch time was fairly sure my mother had had another cerebral incident earlier in the week. I felt sure too that the aggressive behaviour is a symptom of changes taking place in the brain.
I recall my mother-in-law reaching an aggressive phase but it was much milder than this and not directed at me. My mother has a lifetime history of abusing me verbally and lying about and to me but you don’t usually get it all in the space of four or five hours non stop. She used to stop for breath and to complain how tiring it was.
I know there are worse things than being shouted at and although she threatened to hit me at intervals, she didn’t actually do it. All the caring manuals tell you to remove yourself from physical violence. I am very glad I put the locks on two bedroom doors; if she went on the rampage I wouldn’t fancy waiting outside in the rain, though the agency assured me carers have done so, or hidden in their cars from clients taking a nasty turn.
Back home, some five hours after the incident, my shoulders are still tied in knots. I’m off for an early night and then I plan to spend the whole morning working out to see if I can get some endorphins circulating. The other half has broken his dry January in the pub and I would take to drink myself, except that I know alcohol is a depressant and I’m depressed enough already.
When dementia sufferers are having a full-blown demented episode it does take extreme self control to remain kind and caring while people are screaming at you with their eyes bulging. I find it helps to visualise the tiny throbbing brain and be glad it isn’t yours.
Tomorrow after the work out I shall make cards, or do arty stuff or shop for jewellery on Gems TV, www.gemporia.com if you care to join me.
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JaneLaverick.com – dark days.
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