I hadn’t spoken to my mother or her aide for a few days. I was procrastinating since I had visited the lovely home in Flushing, that I decided, after much deliberation (as I also love the residence for seniors in the Bronx) that it was better all around for her to be situated as close as possible to me.

I finally got around to calling last night about 7:30 pm. My mother goes to bed extremely early and I didn’t want to disturb anyone. As for me, it had been a rough, painful rainy day. I had a migraine and an ocular migraine that knocked me out for a few hours.

And then it happened. Doubt.

If you have seen the movie or the play Doubt, you’ll know what I mean. Doubt and confusion rank up there in the group of lousiest emotions. In the story, no one ever really knows whether the priest is up to no good. Was he lying, covering up, innocent? Or is the accuser as guilty as the accused. In short, one’s own perceptions put a spin on a situation whether it be real or fabricated.

I had been feeling pretty good about my choice about my mother’s placement. I felt I was on the right path. I made the decision.

Then I spoke to my mother.

Doubt.

In our conversation she complained about the aide, wanted to know why she had to move (I explained again), was terrified of the cold weather, reiterated that she needed an aide with her all the time. ALL the time. She said something like this:

“I am not who I was before the fall. It did something to me. I need help bathing and dressing, I need someone to get my food, I need, I need, I need. Do they know I need oxygen at night, is it allowed? Well, you better ask!! I don’t want them to think I am concealing anything. Do they know I need help? Do you know I am always cold? The aide made the room too cold I got up all by myself and held onto the wall to check the thermostat, it said 65°… ” The aide chimed in: “Pauline why do you say those things, the thermostat doesn’t go that low, it was 75°. ”  Quibble, bicker.

“Mom, I said, “If it weren’t for Cindi watching you like a hawk and taking care of you, you would have been gone long ago. She has a heart of gold.” My mother repeated in her best theatrical voice so Cindi could hear, “she has a heart of gold and she probably didn’t have her glasses on when she read the thermometer.”

I hung up exhausted after hearing how much she hates the food in her current place, after listening to Cindi complain that someone on the floor is smoking and burning food and the hallway (which isn’t ventilated) was filled with smoke. I hung up.

I felt doubt.

• Was I making the right decision for the move?
• How was I going to orchestrate it?
• Should I move her stuff up or buy new stuff-again?
• Would we be in the same financial situation here: would we not have enough to get a full time aide?
• Would the close proximity lead to her calling me every five minutes and my having to run over there: would I be the one, again, still, doing everything, spending twelve hours a day on the phone?
• Would I end up in a state of self-flagellation?
• Would I end up hating my mother?

I am short with her: explaining, selling, cajoling. I am tired, beyond tired. I was up all night in a cold sweat back to the old panic attacks and fears. Wishing this was all over however it ended up. Dreaming about a beach chair on the edge of the shore where all I could hear are gulls and waves. Where all I could hear is the word “vacation.”

Would I be able to take a vacation?

I have doubt.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here