Official Meltdown has begun. She woke me at 7 with the first call, and then was sobbing on the phone a little while ago. (I did not jump up and rush to the rescue, because her complaints were either things I can't fix, or are crazy, or both.) Yes, the bed is now higher, "someone must have raised it" (while she was sleeping in it?) and the edge is too soft - the same bed that was perfect yesterday at 5 p.m. is now a deathtrap. My response: It's a bed. A good quality bed, with a lowered box spring to make it easier for you to get in and out. I can't do any more than that. It was fine the last two days, it hasn't changed. Her answer: Hmmmpf.
Oh, and her room is too far from the dining room. "Other people's" rooms are closer! This is a good one - she has one of the closest rooms in the entire building. Most of the rooms between her and the dining room are actually offices and mechanical rooms, and there can't be a half dozen of them. "Other people" have to travel from two other wings and/or the second floor to the dining room. Half of them do it dragging oxygen tanks and shit. The Victim of the Universe is sure she has been given a room that is farther than anyone else's. The last two days were a fluke, this is how she really is.
Nobody understands how she suffers. That's a direct quote. That's right, nobody does. Yes, she does have health problems. She's 82. Her complaints of stomach issues that landed her in the hospital appear to have been helped with medication, she never mentions them now. Her blood pressure is better than mine, she's not on any other significant medications other than bp and cholesterol and such, like the average 60 year old, and she is 82. Her last blood work was very good, no problems. Yes, she's 82 and I do believe her when she says she has aches and pains and tires easily, I am not ignoring her, which is why I turned myself inside out for the last three weeks to get her into this expensive and lovely assisted living apartment, so she can see other doctors and get proper medical attention.
I flat told her she was out of options, I had no other answers for her if she doesn't make this work out. I've done my best and I'm done. I will take ONE (1) phone call a day. The rest can go to voicemail.
It's hard, because I was raised with a lot of crazy parental messages, but the primary was that my mother's happiness was somehow my job. I know it isn't. I know how awful that is to do to a kid, and I feel sorry for the kid I was, and also sorry for me now. I also know she is unnaturally fixated on me and identifies with me in a really creepy way. When my haircut didn't turn out the other day, my mother's response was "He's probably mad at you because you are moving away." Um, she's the one who was moving. Ahem. You have no idea how creepy it is to me when I get these flashes of her confusing her life with mine.
I moved her closer to me so I could help out with genuine issues and not lose my job or my sanity or end up in the hospital myself, because the two hour commute was not reasonable. It sucks to be her next of kin, but that's the hand I've been dealt. But I am not going to let her crawl up my ass and consume my life. She will see the new doctor on Wednesday, she has a nurse to talk to in between, there is staff to help her, even she has to admit that they are nice. I can't fix the workings of her brain. The period of Tough Love has begun.