After I got back from my Pilates class, my son told me that my father had called to talk with me. He wanted me to call him back. So I did, but it really wasn't Dad who needed me. It was Mom.
"Where were you!!" She sounded really frantic.
"What's wrong?"
"Norma's going in with your father now, my finger is throbbing and I can't clean anything, the oven exploded and Diana is coming in five minutes! I need you here now!"
(Norma is the Hospice home health care aide that comes in several times a week to bathe Dad. Diana is the Hospice counselor assigned to my parents. Mom cut her finger a few days ago and it's not healing as quickly as she wants.)
"What exploded in the oven?"
"I put a sweet potato in the oven so I would have something to eat for breakfast and it exploded all over the oven. I need you to come clean it for me now. Please, please, please come now."
"Mom, you know that Rhyan's got school until 3 p.m. and I can't come until he's done with his work. Can you wait until then?"
This is when her voice changes from sheer panic to whimpering. "Oh, not until 3? I guess I'll just have to live in these conditions until then...and did you order my vitamins? I'm afraid I'm going blind! Please, please, please get them to me. Call the lady. Tell her I have cataracts." And then she hung up.
(She doesn't have cataracts. The eye doctor said they need to check for cataracts. Mom want's me to order these vitamins that are supposed to prevent cataracts. They are only available online, for nearly $70 for a one-month supply.)
She called again, twice, to ask me to pick up some dish-washing liquid at Sheri's Sonshine Nutrition Center. And to look for some non-toxic oven cleaner (but her oven is self-cleaning, she just doesn't trust it). And to confirm that I'm still coming over at 3.
Okay, I don't know what to do with this behavior. I'm not going to drop everything to go clean her oven. That's a ridiculous expectation. I have a son that needs me! I have a business plan to write for my own business and clients who'll pay me as soon as I get their work done. And I have my own home to maintain. My parents can afford to hire someone to clean, but they won't. And I am not responsible to teach Mom how to manage her neuroses. Or to be her best friend. Or her only friend. Plus, she has another daughter she can call!
Okay, I think I'm done with this for now. I hope.
Epilogue
We ended up logging six phone calls that day. And by 3 o'clock, my mother had cleaned her oven by herself. It only took 10 minutes. So when I got there, I was told how difficult the day had been...all because the sweet potato exploded. My mother is under so much self-imposed stress. She's in panic-mode. Thankfully, her doctor has her on anti-psychotic meds. It really helps!
No comments:
Post a Comment