Tough Love

Some time in Sept, 2010


... Gee was here on Tues night to care for Hunk and Bitchy while I went to Stitch & Bitch from 6-9. I got mom to agree to it on Sunday during her "interview" and when she showed up, mom did not remember saying yes to the idea. But I cajoled her back into it, and explained to dad what was going on and he was game. (She even suggested giving dad a shower after supper!!! I thought, whoa! but she knew elder-care, so I breathed out and thought, fine!) She came in with me to the bathroom where I explained all my routines for putting dad to bed, and also gave her the lowdown on mom's outburst with me that morning.

Which was... I got the call to get dad dressed (which mom adamantly refuses to do for him so early) about 6:25 in the morning and I did that. (When I passed through their room, she was sitting up in bed, lights ablaze with the tv news blaring.) Afterward he asked me for one of those Ensure/ice cream milkshakes I usually make for them both around 10AM. I made a batch, but only gave it to him (in his living room chair) and put the rest in the fridge. (I think mom already had her hot tea and sweet cake, but anyway, I was still groggy and told dad to enjoy the drink, that I was headed back to bed for a bit, and I'd go get the newspaper for mom after it was delivered.)

I was only back in bed for a minute when mom slammed open my door yelling that I was so rude not to bring that drink to her also!! That I'm always rude to her and she's sick of it. That I can just get the hell out if I continue to coddle dad and ignore her. As you might guess, I responded in kind, pointing out that if she's awake enough to be watching the news sitting up in a brightly lit room, maybe she's awake enough to help her husband dress. And that if she wanted some of that drink so early in the morning she could have called out for it when I was still in the kitchen. Or if she wants it now, she can help herself to it from the fridge, etc.

She stormed out shouting and I hunkered back in bed, but realized there was no peace left, so I got up and went in the kitchen where she was blowing off at dad, who I'm sure was trying to understand the outburst. I said I'd be happy to pour her the drink and she said (in her most acid tone) that she had no interest in it anymore. Then she started on another tack that went toward her opinion of how much she helps dad and how much he loves her and how I shouldn't be showing so much favoritism to him.

She grabbed his face and demanded to know how much he loved her. "All there is!" was his meek and rather desperate response.

"There!" she crowed. "You know what your problem is? You're jealous of what I have!"

I started to protest but she was in her stride and cautioned me not to say another word. So of course, I went back to my room. And started thinking about how I could manage to get out of this contract...

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Wednesday I tiptoed around and hoped that her vodka-stewed memory would have erased that episode and that we could just move on. It worked somewhat, and of course, when their friends the Masons arrived for a very unusual late-afternoon visit for cocktails and to join us for supper at the Weathervane seafood restaurant, she was back to enjoying the limelight. Even made jokes about how she was "losing it" now that she had been diagnosed with "that word" (dementia) or as I enjoy calling it "V.D." (vascular dementia).

And it wasn't a bad day, except Gee called with some bad news. She had discovered during dad's shower a very dark red spot on the end of his penis, and recommended at trip to the doctor.

Earlier in the morning I had been wondering what my real feelings were, surrounding that blowup on Tuesday. It occurred to me that the issue centered on my dealing with dad's nakedness. Originally when mom wanted someone to help him shower, she stated clearly she wanted to hire a male nurse/helper. When I said I could certainly help, she insisted no, "You shouldn't have to do that." Which meant (to me) that she didn't want his daughter handling his private parts.

Then later, when it came down to being too expensive to hire someone (e.g., Home Instead charged only ~$14/hour, but they required a 3-hour minimum), I got pro-active and purchased a shower seat and installed the hand held sprayer, and she devised a means of privacy whereby he would wear jockey shorts to shower with my help, and then to finish his private areas, she would come in.

This worked ok for a while, but I became a little concerned listening to her "help" him, thinking she wasn't being thorough or careful enough with slippery/safety issues. So I butted back in a little and she got exasperated with me, huffing, "Oh for God's sakes, you've seen a man's penis before!!"

A very true statement, and as an individual striving for enlightenment, I should be able to rise above my inhibitions and just help the man clean his body! After all, he NEEDS the help, and it's not like HE is exhibiting any discomfort with this... But for some reason I'm feeling that -- as long as mom is alive and "well" -- this should remain HER responsibility! God knows she doesn't hesitate to proclaim dominion over everything else to do with dad... why should she pass on this very intimate task?

As for his current "condition," who knows how long he's had this infection. I haven't noticed any behavior hinting at pain, and he never complains, so maybe it's new? (At the ER on Aug 17, his urine sample came back clean...but, don't know what they looked for...)

In any event, Bitchy said earlier today that she doesn't think he EVER cleaned "that area" (I assume she means under the foreskin), and says that he does not remember! She thinks it just shouldn't matter. "What difference does it make, and anyway, he's not in any pain."

I managed to get an appointment for him today. The doc took a look (we were all in the room, since mom was worried she wouldn't remember what was said) and he said it was a fungus. (They like dark, wet, warm places.) He advised using an over-the-counter ointment twice a day, when his penis should be washed, dried, and have the medicine applied. He was addressing both mom and me. But she said outright that SHE would take care of it.

When we were home after her first hour of drinking, she thought aloud that she should attend to dad even before supper. I thought great, 'cause by 7 she will be pretty much out of it. So she did, and showed very limited patience and was nearly exhausted without having exerted much effort.

Later at dinner, I prepared something and decided to join them at the table. (I don't always, because I'm often working in the basement until 6 and by the time I get upstairs, cleaned off, and make something for myself to eat, they are finished and dad is ready to brush his teeth and change for bed.)

It was a mistake, because she invariably labors around in the kitchen like a woman who's been drinking, puts too much food on their plates, and proceeds to watch him eat, correcting almost every move he makes, all the while continuing to drink her drink, adding wine to the glass, stare out the window, stare at her plate, ask all the usual questions (have you heard from your children, your friend, etc., and what a shame ____ doesn't have a job yet, etc...), and these days, wonder aloud what it is she's forgetting.

Tonight I had a miserable time trying to overlook her behavior, and I started to chuckle. "What's so funny? You think it's funny that I'm losing my mind?" I'm afraid I said something like, "Yeah, kind of ... at least when you choose to do things that make it worse." At which point she had a hard time handling that. I quickly got up to clear the plates and get their evening meds together, heating tea and getting ice cream for them at her request.

And then she reiterated that if I don't change my attitude, she will resort to sending me away and hiring someone to come in and "do my job." I just said she should do what she wants and that I am doing my best (under the circumstances). I started cleaning the kitchen while they finished eating and she coldly directed me to drop what I was doing and help dad get ready for bed. I kept my tone light and pleasant without being solicitous. I am unable to play that game, even though I know it would be in my best interest to live the lie.

I am truly coming to the end of my rope, I think... In fact, I'm formulating an intent to make a break of some kind... If not an actual move out of the house, keeping access to the woodshop, then I will see about hiring someone to come in EVERY day from 4-7 so I won't be interacting with her when she's drinking at all. That person can help her cook -- which she is doing badly these days -- and can clean off dad's penis, etc., and get them both to bed. Maybe I'll take a class somewhere to give it an imperative... I don't know. Something's gotta give, and try as I want to, it doesn't appear to be within my realm of possibility...