Me & My Mum, Part 1
She was only 51 when it happened. Her own mother died form a brain haemorrhage aged a mere 43 when she herself was only 13. This kind of information makes you realise things don’t bode well for yourself, but then they were/are both heavy smokers, and I do have that in my favour being that I hate the little sticks of death, barring the very occasional fag whilst very drunk.
I was sat in the kitchen, doing something or nothing, when both my parents came into the room and dad helped mum put on her jacket. I didn’t register this as being odd, and just asked where they where going. “To the doctors”, I was told. “Why?” “Because your mum’s right hand has gone numb.” Then I noticed that she wasn’t able to move it. I thought it was a bit strange, but nothing serious to fret about. When they returned from the doctors things started to seem a little more worrisome. “What’s happening?” I asked dad as he was throwing a nightie and wash bag into a overnight bag, “She’s got to go to the hospital, the doc has told us to go straight there.” I as a still naive 21 year-old didn’t genuinely think something bad was happening around me, it was something quite simple and that the doctors and nurses would be able to fix in no time; she’d be back home in a few days and life would return to normal. Normal these days is something quite different.
The roles between mother and daughter had completely changed. I’ve frequently commented to her, dad and others that it’s like I’m looking after a giant three year old. No, she doesn’t wear nappies, but we do have two over-sized potties (commodes) that I regularly have to empty; I prepare all her meals and drinks - she was once able to make and fetch her own cups of tea, a slightly drawn out process but it was a little thing she could still do for herself but a couple of bad falls out of bed which resulted in broken bones and lengthy return stays in hospital have knocked her confidence and physical ability to do that any more. Nowadays the cups of tea are nearly always half drunk before they are left to go too cold to drink any more and a fresh supply is required. This means lots of return trips to the kettle for me.
I help her wash and dress; I supply the 20+ pills she has to take daily, and being an ex-nurse and having a far superior knowledge to any doctor, she regularly self-medicates as she sees fit, which causes cross words to be shared; I fetch newspapers, cardigans, tissues, the tape player and audio books that she seems to enjoy; I nag her, I berate her, I make her laugh, I make her angry, I make her sad. I make the cable box work again when it freezes; I turn the central heating and fans on and off when she’s either too cold or too hot; I pick up dropped lighters, fag packets, forks, tissues, pills, remote controls. I supply toilet paper and wipe her arse. I’ll strip bedding, as required, and wash laundry, although I will not iron – that’s a wee job for dad to do whilst the omnibus of Eastenders is on. I answer the phone in her name, as she hasn’t spoken on the telephone since the stroke and it’s far easier to just say, “Yes, I’m Mrs ******” than to explain to a stranger the situation. We fight, we argue, we get fed up with each other, we sing strange little ditties and songs that we both can’t remember where are from. I tell her about the things I read on various blogs (see right) and the emails people have sent. I’ll spend ages being frustrated at her and with her as she tries to explain with her severely restricted vocabulary what she wants or wants doing. I’ll be annoyed when strangers come in and talk to her as if she’s a little old lady who’s slightly demented or deaf.
So, the next person I tell when asked what I do, and I respond with “I’m a carer, to my mum. She suffered a massive stroke, almost 6 years ago, aged 51 which left her paralysed down her right side and her speech and language buggered.” Says: “Oh, how rewarding/good for you.” I’ll probably spit at them: “No it’s not. It’s annoying, frustrating, depressing, for both of us. And I’m quite bitter!”
I’ll explain in part two, or three!
