As it drew closer to the end of Mother’s life, the effects of her major TIA episode, along with continuing bouts with lack of oxygen became more apparent. [transient ischaemic attack (tia), occurs when there is a disruption in the blood supply to a part of the brain, resulting in a temporary period of symptoms similar to those of a stroke.]

Nearing the end of five years as care giver, not properly caring for myself, the fog of my existence thickened. I began to mimic a walking zombie, just trying to get through the hours and days.

Always the problem solver and fixer of the family, unaware of the true make-up of the narcissist person,  I was now weakened and unable to withstand the multiple opinions assaulting me, coming from all sides of family, friends and professionals. With my world rocking and spinning, I facilitated the following situations to the best of my ability.

– High anxiety caused by ambulances sirens blaring at all hours of the day and night, I never knew when Mother would need a trip to emergency. Other people in the same position as myself were wonderful supports, as I began using my headphones, knowing I would be contacted and would facilitate care.

– Eventually, beautiful, understanding gerontology nurses helped me learn what steps to take to avoid continual doctor trips and unnecessary emergency trips (which I got suckered into transporting her). When I figured it out, Mother’s devilish grin snuck out.

– When Mother refused to carry out recommended treatment from pulmonologist specialist and eye specialists, the doctors explained to me there was nothing more they could do. I summoned all my strength and refused to take her to those appointments, getting much anger and flack from a sibling.

– My physical therapist scared me into stop transporting her wheelchair as mother refused to use complimentary wheelchairs found virtually everywhere. She further showed me how to get Mother and her walker (which she insisted we call “cart” as she never accepted her limitations) in and out of my Jeep. [PT told me if I didn’t stop I would end up with back surgery]

– Mother started loosening her inhibitions and began sharing details of her life, which I didn’t care to hear, but my profession in the mental health field kicked in and I facilitated as best as possible. This included: abuse by her father, not wanting to see my father but her mother, she detested being pregnant especially with her youngest daughter, multiple miscarriages [important for me as a family therapist to gain more understanding of the hell we lived through growing up]

– Into her 90’s, Mother’s hatred towards her sisters continued to slip out. She could not let go of perceived (whether true or not) injustice from her sisters. She would get furiously angry, red faced, high pitched voice as she, for the umpteeth time reiterated some minor offence from her young childhood.

– Mother was still furious at me for not taking her to renew her driver’s license and forcing her out of her home into rehab, leading to an independent living facility. Friends and family knew she was unable to live alone as  her last auto accident could have been disastrous. Unable to control her anger and vitriol towards me, others were not able to support me.

– Mother should have been in assistive care, but the doctors said since I was there she could stay in independent living. Frantic pleas to my siblings to help out and release some of Mother’s money, went unheeded.

Perhaps the most intense situation I faced repeatedly:
Mother completed her Registered Nurse training in her early 20’s during WWII when there were great shortages. She soon married and never worked again, which I attribute to my father, 12 years older, believing it was the man’s responsibility to provide for his family.

However, Mother’s identity was based in being an RN. She made sure all medical people knew, including emergency workers, doctors and nurses. What she failed to tell them was that she hadn’t worked in 70 years, which I would have to explain, and tell her that despite reading nursing journals, she had to stop telling medical professionals that she was an RN. Her wrath towards me eeked out through her eyes, facial and body expression and verbiage.

It came to a head when I got a midnight call to come to the hospital. I was met with a full contingent of medical staff outside her room where I had to explain the RN misnomer. Mom had been yelling at the staff that she was a nurse and she took better care of her patients, etc.

Eventually, I headed off the RN misnomer, smoothing it over by saying Mother pioneered home health care, as she did help out neighbors. This calmed down Mother and others understood. Although by now, I suspect the details were in all her charts.

I am forever grateful to my close friends, many of them in the helping professions, as well as my colleagues at the university. With their support, knowing how much I love to travel, eventually I took small trips, I went to great lengths to prepare for my absence, people to check on her, provide care and entertainment. I endured intense resistance and mistreatment from Mother. However, with distance, I was able to lessen my anxiety, breathe easier, and examine my options moving forward.