Wednesday, January 14, 2105

A dilemma. I have the opportunity to write an article for a peer-reviewed journal on a topic I really like. There are several problems: I don’t get enough sleep anymore. I am constantly interrupted. And I have a weekly newsletter that demands my attention. The journal article would bring in significantly more money than anything else I am currently working on, but with tending to mom, cleaning the house almost constantly, going to market 3 days a week, going to Pottstown once a week, I am not sure I can handle it. I used to reserve a huge block of time for each project. I was younger then and didn’t have constant interruptions. I am almost unable to work in the evening at all now. That’s mom’s time for the bathroom—3, 4, 5 trips in a row.

You were just in here, mom. You need to finish your business.

No I wasn’t.

Yes you were. Now sit there and go.

Sometimes she obliges. Every morning, for example, I lead her to the bathroom and we have the same exchange.

You need to go to the bathroom.

I don’t need to go. I just went.

No you didn’t. You just got up.

I did. I tell you, I did.

No you didn’t. Now sit. 

Every morning. Every single morning we share this exchange. And every single morning, mom does her business. Truthfully, it’s easier dealing with Valentino. He’s always eager to go for a walk at any time of the night or day.

I just called a nearby home to see if mom can go for respite care for a week or more. The home advertises involving those under their care in social activities so they don’t feel lonely. Mom surely feels lonely here. I usually deny her requests to sit and watch TV. I often either don’t have the time, and if I do, I rarely have the inclination. I am not a fan of game shows or game show hosts. I can hardly sit and talk with her. We have nothing to say and there is certainly nothing she would remember. Mom would repeat the same questions over and over and over—something for which I have long lost patience. I do try from time to time to talk with her, but as I noted before, you either see the cat or the man or the people waving or you don’t. Tonight there was someone at the kitchen window. There is always someone at a window somewhere. Windows are a problem. They pose threats. They serve as leaks to the outside—anyone can get in. They are no longer prized for light or air (both of which mom spent an entire lifetime trying to eliminate). For her, windows were always meant to be closed, draped, shuttered, locked–anything but opened. In summer, I open the windows behind the closed shutters, just to allow some exchange of air. It often works, but sometimes mom will complain that it’s cold—even on the hottest day.

Well, maybe my life’s work has changed. I should no longer be writing medical articles. My life is now about taking care of my mother. It’s surely not as lucrative as writing, but if I can find the patience and get some time off, it might someday be rewarding.