Running Toward the Fire
I think my mother is dying.
I think she's doing it on purpose.
She is not eating. She's down from 123 lbs. on December 27, her last doctor's visit, to a whopping 111 lbs. yesterday. She lives in the only income-based, independent living high-rise that offers supportive services in the whole state of Tennessee. Twice a day, at breakfast and supper, a worker brings her food and checks to make sure she is ok. "Ok" is, of course, a subjective term. They check to make sure she's alive. Or not wailing or screaming (which she's done before).
My husband and I set up her weekly meds every Saturday. We check her refrigerator to make sure she has no spoiled items. I might help her shower, while Ben will start a load of laundry. Then we try to take her out to do something pleasant - a trip to the Dollar Tree, perhaps. Later, we buy her lunch and try to make her eat it. We drop her off after lunch with tremendous relief and tremendous guilt. In the evening, my sister and I will exchange notes about our daily conversations with her. How was Mom's anxiety today? Do you think she is having delusions? What foods might she want to eat? This is our new normal since my mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in October.
My mother has never been easy to forget. Depending on how well you know her, you might describe her as "soooooo sweet!" or "one of a kind!" or "crazy funny!" Those adjectives, while true to varying degrees over the years, are as ancient and relatable to me now as my once-favorite teething ring.
She was a wacky, big-hearted lunchlady for many years at my high school, and then she was a well-loved mother figure to scores of college kids at the University of Georgia. Athletes, geeks, Jesus freaks - she encouraged them all as they ponied up their cash or cards at the dining hall. "There's ole Punkinhead!" she'd beam proudly when she saw an athlete she knew on TV. "He comes through my line all the time!"
She retired in 2014 due to health concerns and went to live in Ohio with my sister and brother-in-law. Then, in true Linda fashion, she decided she hated the cold Ohio winters and decided to move back to Tennessee. That time in Tennessee ended when my sister and I assessed that she was having paranoid and delusional behaviors. So back to Ohio Mom went. My sister helped find her a counselor and took her for a battery of tests. No dementia, they told her. But yeah, there's something. We'll keep digging.
After nearly a year of continued self-isolation and a troubling streak of impulsiveness, Mom took our advice and decided to move back to Tennessee, once again. The way we were able to find a supportive, affordable, and geographically desirable living situation for her in such a short amount of time was miraculous, despite her difficulty coping with the transition.
So we moved her into her current apartment on Eclipse Day. Dear reader - I understand why so many of our ancestors were moved to dread by such a sight. Had I less faith in the sovereignty of my Lord, I would have been cowered by such a harbinger.
Since the eclipse, her depression and anxiety have grown to the point of self-harm. When things stress her too much, she hits herself in the head, or smacks her arm against the concrete walls of her apartment. I document these things, with her permission, and tell her doctors.
She has been hospitalized 4 times since October. Her bipolar diagnosis, brand-new but utterly unsurprising, has been a great challenge for all of us. The psychiatrist we trust the most has also diagnosed her with depression and mild cognitive impairment. Another one, seemingly perfunctorily, added anxiety and "possible" major cognitive impairment. She has had her meds adjusted, she has stopped taking her meds and started them again, she has seen a counselor several times, but sits stony-faced at most doctors appointments while I try to balance my advocation for her with empowerment. We have encouraged her to take advantage of the many activities her high-rise has to offer. We have encouraged her to go to the free day-camp for seniors offered by Knox County. We have spent countless funds trying to give her any support we can - not just my sister and I, but her sisters as well. She has relaxation CDs, coloring books, noise generators, pantry snacks, Boost, a special mattress topper, a shower chair. We have credit card debt and stress illnesses.
She has told me she doesn't want to live anymore. She doesn't think she can get any better. I already manage her money, schedule and take her to her doctor's appointments, dictate her life in so many ways. To a free spirit such as my mother, this must be unbearable. So I guess starving herself is the only control she still has. But because we will never give up on her, my family is forced to bear witness to her pain and her choices just by taking care of her. It has been monstrous.
I do not want pity but I covet your prayers. I have decided to share the raw reality of my life because I do not want anyone in a similar situation to feel as though they are walking alone. You are not. I see you and I pray for peace and strength for you.
At this writing, her story is not over, and neither is mine. There is more to share with you, as I run toward the fire.
January 21, 2018
