Ow! That baseball bat hurt!

Being overwhelmed is a funny thing. You can usually see it coming, but it always seems so much further away than it actually is. Then, when you think you've got a handle on things and you're telling yourself, "Okay, I'm finally keeping up", Overwhelmed sneaks up from behind and hits you with a baseball bat.

I was doing okay. I know I was. The holidays were over, Mom's house was mostly moved and the rest was deemed to be Kevin's problem, my desk at work was down to a single stack of paper, and my desk at home... well, everyone has a problem area. But the left half of the desk is cleaned off and the piles on the right half are only an inch thick. It's progress. I'd even managed to find a sliver or two of the basement floor. Sure, I have projects sitting around that aren't getting worked on, but they're not time-critical. If the boxes of photos don't get scanned for a while, so what? If the boxes in the basement don't get hauled off to a charity this week, they'll wait (I would have liked to get them out before the end of 2007, but since it didn't happen I really don't have a deadline sooner than 12/31/08). I even have clean underwear.

And then I woke up today. It's my "day off", which is to say "the day I run around doing errands and projects and trying to catch up". I made a list. Overwhelmed's first attack came from John asking what I was going to do today. I told him I had a list. He asked if I was going to visit my mother (who we took to the hospital yesterday for another round of congestive heart failure). I said "Oh, forgot about that" and added "Visit Mom" to the list. (And then 4 other things after that, too.)

Consumer's Energy is threatening to shut us off for non-payment. I went to our bank's online bill pay and paid them so we can keep our heat, and realized that I forgot to pay John's salary for January. Fortunately the automatically-deducted house payment didn't bounce, because I haven't bothered to figure out how much money we have and where it ought to be applied in a while, and have just paid the minimum balances on our credit cards until I "have time" to straighten it all out. Which will probably be shortly after we max out one or more of them and I am forced to make time for it.

I'm staring at a letter from the IRS demanding money as a penalty for paying our employment taxes late. I've already paid the penalty, but the letter is still on my desk as a reminder to write the sob-story letter begging for forgiveness for that penalty. As I looked at it, I realized I may as well include a plea for forgiveness for the penalty for the taxes that were due yesterday, too.

I don't know what happened to the dining room table. It was there last week, but now there's a pile of Things in its place. I don't know how they all got there.

These are just the things I've noticed today. Who knows what I'll unearth tomorrow?

Ow! That baseball bat hurt!

Being overwhelmed is a funny thing. You can usually see it coming, but it always seems so much further away than it actually is. Then, when you think you've got a handle on things and you're telling yourself, "Okay, I'm finally keeping up", Overwhelmed sneaks up from behind and hits you with a baseball bat.

I was doing okay. I know I was. The holidays were over, Mom's house was mostly moved and the rest was deemed to be Kevin's problem, my desk at work was down to a single stack of paper, and my desk at home... well, everyone has a problem area. But the left half of the desk is cleaned off and the piles on the right half are only an inch thick. It's progress. I'd even managed to find a sliver or two of the basement floor. Sure, I have projects sitting around that aren't getting worked on, but they're not time-critical. If the boxes of photos don't get scanned for a while, so what? If the boxes in the basement don't get hauled off to a charity this week, they'll wait (I would have liked to get them out before the end of 2007, but since it didn't happen I really don't have a deadline sooner than 12/31/08). I even have clean underwear.

And then I woke up today. It's my "day off", which is to say "the day I run around doing errands and projects and trying to catch up". I made a list. Overwhelmed's first attack came from John asking what I was going to do today. I told him I had a list. He asked if I was going to visit my mother (who we took to the hospital yesterday for another round of congestive heart failure). I said "Oh, forgot about that" and added "Visit Mom" to the list. (And then 4 other things after that, too.)

Consumer's Energy is threatening to shut us off for non-payment. I went to our bank's online bill pay and paid them so we can keep our heat, and realized that I forgot to pay John's salary for January. Fortunately the automatically-deducted house payment didn't bounce, because I haven't bothered to figure out how much money we have and where it ought to be applied in a while, and have just paid the minimum balances on our credit cards until I "have time" to straighten it all out. Which will probably be shortly after we max out one or more of them and I am forced to make time for it.

I'm staring at a letter from the IRS demanding money as a penalty for paying our employment taxes late. I've already paid the penalty, but the letter is still on my desk as a reminder to write the sob-story letter begging for forgiveness for that penalty. As I looked at it, I realized I may as well include a plea for forgiveness for the penalty for the taxes that were due yesterday, too.

I don't know what happened to the dining room table. It was there last week, but now there's a pile of Things in its place. I don't know how they all got there.

These are just the things I've noticed today. Who knows what I'll unearth tomorrow?

Welcome to Hell. Population: me

Mom is in the hospital again. She was found Monday morning, face down in front of her couch. She was awake and responsive, but too weak to roll herself over. We spent a major portion of yesterday in the Emergency Room with her, while the hospital tried to find her a bed (one of the three hospitals in the area is going under financially and closing down wings, which has increased the population at the other two hospitals). At 3, I went home because I was feeling nauseous (the changing weather always makes my sinuses explode, and the drainage plus the 80 degree temperature in the ER plus the sights and smells of a hospital were enough to make me very ill), and John stayed until 6 when they moved her into a room.

After the last hospital trip, her doctor ran a battery of tests on her to find out why she's still swelling up. When none of the tests came back positive, he started going through ALL of the old tests that had been run. Amongst the EKGs, he discovered an anomaly-- she's got a hole between the two sides of her heart. It's a condition that is generally only found in children, so few doctors look for it in adults, and he probably wouldn't have either if any of the other tests had indicated another problem. With the heart not pumping at full capacity, her system can't get the fluid out of her. It's why she's swollen, and it's why she's so tired, and it's possibly why she had the original stroke in the first place. The fix is heart surgery, but it's laproscopic-- they make a small incision in her groin and go up the vein, instead of cutting her chest open. It's an outpatient procedure. We made an appointment for her to meet with the surgeon.

The day before her appointment with the surgeon, she got the flu. There was no way we were going to try to drag her out in the snow and ice and deal with all the vomit and diarrhea, so we canceled that appointment. The replacement appointment was supposed to be yesterday afternoon.

Obviously, we didn't make that one either. But she's in St. Joseph, and the surgeon is attached to St. Joseph, so he agreed to send one of his Physician's Assistants out to do the sonogram, and then to do the surgery while she is in the hospital. The PA came out today. And Mom sent him away. Because Mom is being a complete fucking bitc... uh, I mean, "a little challenging" for this hospital stay.

I get that she doesn't want to be there. I get that she wants to go home. I also get that she is not capable of taking care of herself at home, and needs to be in the hospital until her fluid levels go down (at a minimum). This time is worse than the last time she was in the hospital for congestive heart failure; now they're finding fluid not just in her lungs but in her brain as well.

Mom is refusing pretty much everything. Her blood oxygen levels are in the low 80s or high 70s (90s are the minimum acceptable, with 97 being the goal; low 80s is in the "doing damage to your brain" levels). She won't let the nurses put the oxygen tube on her, and if they do manage it she will pull it back off. She refuses to have the sonogram. She refuses to have the heart surgery at all. She has decided that "that's not the problem" and that it won't help. She doesn't know what the problem is, just that "that's not it."

She does not want to die; at least, I'm reasonably certain that this is not a passive-aggressive form of suicide. We had this conversation:

Me: "Mom, pleas..."

Mom: "NO!" (cutting me off)

Me: "So I'm just supposed to let you die, then?"

Mom: "Yes"

Me: "Do you want me to just smother you with a pillow now and get it over with?"

Mom: "No" (this is why I don't think she really wants to die and is just using the "yes" answers to letting her die as a way to get me to let her have her way; her "No" answer here was pretty quick and defiant)

John: "Should we put you in Hospice?"

Mom: "No. I'll get better on my own."

We went back and forth multiple times on the issue, and eventually I cracked. Something inside me said "I have had enough of this crap." I gave her three options with the oxygen tube:

1. She could put it on willingly and leave it on.
2. I could authorize the nurses to strap her wrists down and put it on her anyway.
3. I could leave and not ever come back.

She picked #3. I asked twice; she glared at me and told me she was not going to put the oxygen on or be tied down.

I walked out. On my way out, I authorized the wrist straps anyway, because I am just that bitchy*. John managed to talk her into putting the oxygen tube on "for two hours", but if that's not enough or if she takes it off before then, the hospital staff has my permission (not just as her daughter and next of kin, but also as the holder of her Durable Power of Attorney) to do what they need to do to treat her.

I have no intention of visiting her tomorrow. I'd like to say that I'm Just Done, but I have never been able to hold onto anger for all that long, and no matter how much of a bitch she's being she's still the only mother I've got. It's pretty likely that I will visit again on Thursday. If not, it's a certainty that I will visit on Friday.

But I am pissed. I am sick of being more invested in her health than she is. I'm sick of hearing that she's refused her insulin or that she's not walking when she's supposed to or that she IS walking when she's not supposed to (i.e. when she's unaccompanied) or any other stunt she pulls because she's decided that doctors know nothing. I'm sick of dropping everything to run to get her something she insists she needs Right This Second and I'm sick of spending entire days in the emergency room and I'm sick of her complaining that I don't see her often enough if I have the audacity to try and fit a bit of my own life into the mix as well (defined as "two days in a row of not visiting"). I'm sick of piles of my own paperwork that I can't get done because I'm spending hours on her bills and her insurance claims and her disability paperwork. I'm sick of giving up my life for hers while she is actively trying to throw hers away.

For the record: the resident at the hospital and Mom's normal doctor both agree with John and I. The current plan is to drug her tonight, and then do the sonogram and the surgery tomorrow while she continues to be knocked out. If she still wants everyone to leave her alone and let her die afterward, fine. I'll buy her some razor blades. She can use them, or she can continue to pout and just threaten to use them, or she can get over herself and try to actually get better. Whichever.


* I get it from my mother.

Welcome to Hell. Population: me

Mom is in the hospital again. She was found Monday morning, face down in front of her couch. She was awake and responsive, but too weak to roll herself over. We spent a major portion of yesterday in the Emergency Room with her, while the hospital tried to find her a bed (one of the three hospitals in the area is going under financially and closing down wings, which has increased the population at the other two hospitals). At 3, I went home because I was feeling nauseous (the changing weather always makes my sinuses explode, and the drainage plus the 80 degree temperature in the ER plus the sights and smells of a hospital were enough to make me very ill), and John stayed until 6 when they moved her into a room.

After the last hospital trip, her doctor ran a battery of tests on her to find out why she's still swelling up. When none of the tests came back positive, he started going through ALL of the old tests that had been run. Amongst the EKGs, he discovered an anomaly-- she's got a hole between the two sides of her heart. It's a condition that is generally only found in children, so few doctors look for it in adults, and he probably wouldn't have either if any of the other tests had indicated another problem. With the heart not pumping at full capacity, her system can't get the fluid out of her. It's why she's swollen, and it's why she's so tired, and it's possibly why she had the original stroke in the first place. The fix is heart surgery, but it's laproscopic-- they make a small incision in her groin and go up the vein, instead of cutting her chest open. It's an outpatient procedure. We made an appointment for her to meet with the surgeon.

The day before her appointment with the surgeon, she got the flu. There was no way we were going to try to drag her out in the snow and ice and deal with all the vomit and diarrhea, so we canceled that appointment. The replacement appointment was supposed to be yesterday afternoon.

Obviously, we didn't make that one either. But she's in St. Joseph, and the surgeon is attached to St. Joseph, so he agreed to send one of his Physician's Assistants out to do the sonogram, and then to do the surgery while she is in the hospital. The PA came out today. And Mom sent him away. Because Mom is being a complete fucking bitc... uh, I mean, "a little challenging" for this hospital stay.

I get that she doesn't want to be there. I get that she wants to go home. I also get that she is not capable of taking care of herself at home, and needs to be in the hospital until her fluid levels go down (at a minimum). This time is worse than the last time she was in the hospital for congestive heart failure; now they're finding fluid not just in her lungs but in her brain as well.

Mom is refusing pretty much everything. Her blood oxygen levels are in the low 80s or high 70s (90s are the minimum acceptable, with 97 being the goal; low 80s is in the "doing damage to your brain" levels). She won't let the nurses put the oxygen tube on her, and if they do manage it she will pull it back off. She refuses to have the sonogram. She refuses to have the heart surgery at all. She has decided that "that's not the problem" and that it won't help. She doesn't know what the problem is, just that "that's not it."

She does not want to die; at least, I'm reasonably certain that this is not a passive-aggressive form of suicide. We had this conversation:

Me: "Mom, pleas..."

Mom: "NO!" (cutting me off)

Me: "So I'm just supposed to let you die, then?"

Mom: "Yes"

Me: "Do you want me to just smother you with a pillow now and get it over with?"

Mom: "No" (this is why I don't think she really wants to die and is just using the "yes" answers to letting her die as a way to get me to let her have her way; her "No" answer here was pretty quick and defiant)

John: "Should we put you in Hospice?"

Mom: "No. I'll get better on my own."

We went back and forth multiple times on the issue, and eventually I cracked. Something inside me said "I have had enough of this crap." I gave her three options with the oxygen tube:

1. She could put it on willingly and leave it on.
2. I could authorize the nurses to strap her wrists down and put it on her anyway.
3. I could leave and not ever come back.

She picked #3. I asked twice; she glared at me and told me she was not going to put the oxygen on or be tied down.

I walked out. On my way out, I authorized the wrist straps anyway, because I am just that bitchy*. John managed to talk her into putting the oxygen tube on "for two hours", but if that's not enough or if she takes it off before then, the hospital staff has my permission (not just as her daughter and next of kin, but also as the holder of her Durable Power of Attorney) to do what they need to do to treat her.

I have no intention of visiting her tomorrow. I'd like to say that I'm Just Done, but I have never been able to hold onto anger for all that long, and no matter how much of a bitch she's being she's still the only mother I've got. It's pretty likely that I will visit again on Thursday. If not, it's a certainty that I will visit on Friday.

But I am pissed. I am sick of being more invested in her health than she is. I'm sick of hearing that she's refused her insulin or that she's not walking when she's supposed to or that she IS walking when she's not supposed to (i.e. when she's unaccompanied) or any other stunt she pulls because she's decided that doctors know nothing. I'm sick of dropping everything to run to get her something she insists she needs Right This Second and I'm sick of spending entire days in the emergency room and I'm sick of her complaining that I don't see her often enough if I have the audacity to try and fit a bit of my own life into the mix as well (defined as "two days in a row of not visiting"). I'm sick of piles of my own paperwork that I can't get done because I'm spending hours on her bills and her insurance claims and her disability paperwork. I'm sick of giving up my life for hers while she is actively trying to throw hers away.

For the record: the resident at the hospital and Mom's normal doctor both agree with John and I. The current plan is to drug her tonight, and then do the sonogram and the surgery tomorrow while she continues to be knocked out. If she still wants everyone to leave her alone and let her die afterward, fine. I'll buy her some razor blades. She can use them, or she can continue to pout and just threaten to use them, or she can get over herself and try to actually get better. Whichever.


* I get it from my mother.