Guilty!

January 20, 2011

The commotion was going on in my head, but I couldn’t tell if it was real or a dream.

“It’s too early to get up.  Why don’t you go back to bed?” Jerry was saying.  I could hear frustration in his voice and knew it couldn’t be the first time he’d said it to her.

“OK, then, you just wait right here.  I’m going to go in the living room and smoke a cigarette.”

She was hollering something at him from the room, then I heard her in the hallway.  “Oh, I’m going to fall!” she cried.  Just as I jerked the covers back, I heard a thump.  “Oh!  I broke my neck!  I broke my neck!” she whimpered in her little girl voice.

Jerry and I met in the hallway, and Chloe showed up, too.  Mother’s arm was split open in three places, gushing blood.   I gulped at the sight of it, such a chicken about blood.  I was driving Jerry crazy, not following his directions to get her up off the floor.  Finally we were able to wisp her up.  We couldn’t figure out what tore her arm unless it was the door facing—there was nothing else in the hallway that could have hurt her.  I went for bandages.  Jerry did a magnificent job of pulling the flesh together and wrapping everything up.  It would do until I could call Sue.

After we coaxed her back in bed, I just had to go in the living room and have a little cry.  I know Jerry felt guilty, and I did, too, even though there was no reason to.  It was almost 6 a.m. now.

At eight, I called Sue, and she came a couple hours later, even though it wasn’t her day to visit.  I was amazed at what a great job she did of taking care of the wounds.  Mother watched curiously, almost as if it were happening to someone else, as Sue pulled the flaps of skin together and fixed them with a butterfly bandage.  As soon as they were bandaged, she seemed to forget them.  I really think her tolerance for pain is off the charts.

January 21, 2011

Guilty

Jerry had gotten up early with Mom, like 5:45.  Their conversation had woken me.  I reared up on one elbow to see Mother, pushing Ivory the cat down the hallway on her walker, on the way to the bathroom.

Hearing Chloe and Jerry all the time in the background, I finally got up about 7.  As I walked past her room, I saw Mother already out of her bed.  “Are you ready for some coffee?” I asked her.  She was talking about wanting something to eat, so I took her to her recliner and gave her some coffee to start off the day.

On his way back from taking Chloe to school, Jerry bought Mom a donut.  He showed her how to dunk it in her coffee so she could eat it without her dentures, but mostly she just took a big bite of donut then filled her mouth up with the coffee.  “That’s good, really good.”  I’ve noticed she likes sugar in the morning.

Mother finished her donut, and I went to clean the kitchen.  “Where is she?” I heard Mom ask Jerry. 

“She’s in the kitchen.”  Too far away to see.

Jerry left her and went to play his computer game.  I kept on working in the kitchen.  When I walked back in to check on her, a deep frown was pinching her whole face.  “He wants me to stay here,” she said.

“You don’t have to stay here.”

“You just don’t want me here.  I have to have too much help.  You just don’t want me here,” she accused.

I felt a pang in my heart when she said that.  I pulled her up out of her chair and hugged her to me.  “That’s not true.”  My eyes filled up with tears.

“I have to pee,” she answered.  I settled her into her walker and pushed her down the hall.

After she peed, I took her into her bedroom and put her in her bed.  Noticing her potty needed emptying from earlier this morning, I toted it to the bathroom and dumped the stinky mess in the toilet.  A little prayer went through my head at that moment, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, keep my patience.  Please, her life is so miserable.  Please, God, just let her go ahead and die.”

The second I walked back into her room and put the potty in its chair, her eyes flew open and she said, “I know you just want me to die!  You just put me on this table and left me here until I diiiiiie.”

Was she reading my mind now?  Stunned, I don’t know if I jerked physically or if it just felt like I did.  I bent over her and hugged her and talked softly in her ear.  “Is it me that wants you to die, or is it you?  You’ve been telling me you’re ready.”

I pulled back from her and she just stared back at me.  Tears filled my eyes.  Jerry had heard the conversation.  I sat on the couch, cried a little, blew my nose a few times.  Charlene called and said she was on her way.  When I checked back on Mom, she was asleep, so I sat down and started typing.  She slept until Charlene came in and woke her up.

Charlene left to go into the bathroom for supplies. 

“I know it’s true.  You’re just waiting for me to die.  You just want to put me in this bed and let me diiiiiiiiiiie,” she said to my back.

Charlene walked in, towels and cleaning supplies in her arms.  “Charlene, when you left the room, she told me that I just want her to die!”  I tattled on her.

“Nnnnnnnnh,” Charlene said, as always, but this time with her eyes wide as she tilted her head and shook it side to side, curious and surprised.

“Will I have a bath?” Mother asked.

“No, we can’t get your arm wet,” I said.

“I’ll do anything you say,” Mother was telling Charlene.  “You just tell me what you want me to do.  She’s a sweeeeeeeet person.  She’s always so sweet.”

I had to go back in and sit down with Jerry again. 

“She didn’t mean it, honey,” he said.

“Yes, she did.”

I don’t know if she’s still mad at me about the broken dentures and the missing hearing aid, if I used the wrong tone of voice with her, or if she’s just sick of me telling her what to do.  I know better than to take it personally.  I do know better.