Lack of congruence
I posted this on my Facebook this morning--
"Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony." - Mahatma Gandhi
And it explains a lot, because that is not what I have been doing, and it may be the key to why I am NOT so happy right at the moment...
Because Facebook is a very public place, where I have a collection of family and "friends" who don't know me very well, I have created a persona there that is a large portion of who I really am, but which I feel compelled to protect when I am NOT that person. The Facebook person is positive and relentlessly optimistic, and that is who I am expected to be there. And while this is not a false face, it certainly doesn't convey the complexity of who I am now. And who I am now is particularly conflicted emotionally, because of the things that are going on with mother.
She is not good. At all. I spoke with the doctor yesterday, and the expectation is that even if she leaves the hospital (which she might not), she will be placed in a long-term acute care facility. Which may also serve as a hospice.
There are so many things that are difficult about this situation. Because of the infection and the power of the medications (both antibiotics and for pain), she is not...her. She is hallucinating. She doesn't know who any of us really are. She spends a lot of time sleeping. She is incapable of any sort of conversation. In essence, the person that my mother was is already gone.
And yet, we cannot just "let her go". She is not intubated, and she has not required the cardiac resuscitation that her DNR forbids. She cannot go without treatment for her wound and let the infection take her, because that would result in excruciating pain that no medication would touch. Her CHF increases and decreases as they are able to administer diuretics--they cannot put her on a steady course of diuretics because of the strain it puts on her kidneys, but they cannot keep her entirely off of them because of the respiratory distress she suffers when her chest fills up, which is particularly evident when she has dressing changes (which they are now doing every four hours). Her blood sugars go up and down at random, responding to the intravenous feeding, the ebb and flow of the infection, the balance of medications...
If she were a dog, the decision would have been made long ago to put her down--to end her suffering. And she herself has said to me that this would be a positive thing--I think that she would be pleased just to go. Emotionally, I think she's ready, and emotionally, I think she wants it. She has, for all intents and purposes, given up in her mind and in her heart. But her body struggles on, in its own weak and incredibly complicated way. It isn't a question of "keeping her alive"--it's clear that her body's survival instinct has NOT given up, even though everything that makes her who she really is actually HAS. Nothing is being done for her that is anything but maintenance and management of pain--and it refuses to give up and make the decision FOR us.
She's in limbo, and we're there with her.
My father is taking it very hard--living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and curling more and more into himself as he sits in his recliner and watches old tv programs and golf. He is worn out. He is lonely, but with that strange loneliness that doesn't really want company. He goes up and sits with Mother in the hospital, and comes back feeling even worse than before he went, because she sleeps, and when she wakes, she doesn't know him. He feels guilty if he doesn't go, but when he does go, it rips him to pieces to know that his presence means nothing. I try to tempt him to eat, and sometimes I succeed--but sometimes I do not. I try to help him with managing his life, but he is clearly boggled by what is happening, and is often incapable of processing what he is told or the explanations he's given. So I speak to the doctors and nurses, and try to interpret what they say for him.
I hear different things from different people. The surgeon says he is pleased with the way the wound is healing. The internal medicine doc believes that she will need long term acute care with hospice. The nurse I spoke to this morning didn't say this outright (she's a sweet girl and never would say it outright), but I got the distinct impression that she was surprised that Mother was still alive. My heart perks up when I hear the optimistic things, and sinks when I hear the realistic things, and it's the most horrifying emotional roller coaster I've ever experienced, because the ups and downs come not day to day, but moment to moment, depending on who I am talking to, and I feel constantly off-balance. But the pressure to remain even, to remain solid and strong, is relentless, and I cannot, even for a moment, let my own emotions slip out into the world, exposing me as a person who is less than I have advertised myself to be.
In these situations, there must be one person with a level head. Apparently, I am that person.
I'm finding myself increasingly BAD at it. And resentful of it.
There is a part of me that just wants to run away--to be able to sink myself into the mundane complexities of life, where problems come and get solved in a manageable way. I want to be able to make reliable plans, and to carry them out. I want to be able to think about something other than this.
I want to know what I'm doing.
My sister-in-law burbles on in Facebook about getting textbooks for her children and getting her oldest settled into a living situation at school, and talks about going to the beach, and the vacation they took in the mountains this summer...and I find myself hating her for the normality of her life. Because she and my brother and her family have managed it yet again--they made a clean getaway, and have wriggled themselves successfully out of the straitjacket of this entire situation. And they've been able to do it because I'm here, and because I cannot. They made their escape, and have done it without even having to think about it, because they don't have to.
Because I'm here.
And then those feelings make me feel even more helpless, because I seem to be powerless to be rid of them and to be at peace with who I am or what I'm doing or how I'm feeling. The resentment is even more disruptive than the situation itself, because all it manages to do is throw another emotional log on the fire, which makes it even harder to see the facts in a clear light. But I can't seem to rid myself of it.
And it sounds stupid, but I find myself envying the variety of their problems. Kids, car, house, school--all things to worry about, but stunning in their normality and enviable in their solvability. A beautiful, multi-colored list of normal, manageable problems.
How sweet that would be! What an incredible luxury!
I don't ask for a life without struggle--struggle is normal. But what I would give just to be able to MANAGE what I have, because I really don't know if I am managing this.
And I think about my therapist's office--the cool dim light and the comfy couch and the delightfully freeing experience of being able to say what I need to say, to someone who is not emotionally invested in the outcome.
I think it might be time.
I am grieving my mother, and she's not even gone. In fact, her going would be a healing for grief.
How fucking sick is that?
"Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony." - Mahatma Gandhi
And it explains a lot, because that is not what I have been doing, and it may be the key to why I am NOT so happy right at the moment...
Because Facebook is a very public place, where I have a collection of family and "friends" who don't know me very well, I have created a persona there that is a large portion of who I really am, but which I feel compelled to protect when I am NOT that person. The Facebook person is positive and relentlessly optimistic, and that is who I am expected to be there. And while this is not a false face, it certainly doesn't convey the complexity of who I am now. And who I am now is particularly conflicted emotionally, because of the things that are going on with mother.
She is not good. At all. I spoke with the doctor yesterday, and the expectation is that even if she leaves the hospital (which she might not), she will be placed in a long-term acute care facility. Which may also serve as a hospice.
There are so many things that are difficult about this situation. Because of the infection and the power of the medications (both antibiotics and for pain), she is not...her. She is hallucinating. She doesn't know who any of us really are. She spends a lot of time sleeping. She is incapable of any sort of conversation. In essence, the person that my mother was is already gone.
And yet, we cannot just "let her go". She is not intubated, and she has not required the cardiac resuscitation that her DNR forbids. She cannot go without treatment for her wound and let the infection take her, because that would result in excruciating pain that no medication would touch. Her CHF increases and decreases as they are able to administer diuretics--they cannot put her on a steady course of diuretics because of the strain it puts on her kidneys, but they cannot keep her entirely off of them because of the respiratory distress she suffers when her chest fills up, which is particularly evident when she has dressing changes (which they are now doing every four hours). Her blood sugars go up and down at random, responding to the intravenous feeding, the ebb and flow of the infection, the balance of medications...
If she were a dog, the decision would have been made long ago to put her down--to end her suffering. And she herself has said to me that this would be a positive thing--I think that she would be pleased just to go. Emotionally, I think she's ready, and emotionally, I think she wants it. She has, for all intents and purposes, given up in her mind and in her heart. But her body struggles on, in its own weak and incredibly complicated way. It isn't a question of "keeping her alive"--it's clear that her body's survival instinct has NOT given up, even though everything that makes her who she really is actually HAS. Nothing is being done for her that is anything but maintenance and management of pain--and it refuses to give up and make the decision FOR us.
She's in limbo, and we're there with her.
My father is taking it very hard--living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and curling more and more into himself as he sits in his recliner and watches old tv programs and golf. He is worn out. He is lonely, but with that strange loneliness that doesn't really want company. He goes up and sits with Mother in the hospital, and comes back feeling even worse than before he went, because she sleeps, and when she wakes, she doesn't know him. He feels guilty if he doesn't go, but when he does go, it rips him to pieces to know that his presence means nothing. I try to tempt him to eat, and sometimes I succeed--but sometimes I do not. I try to help him with managing his life, but he is clearly boggled by what is happening, and is often incapable of processing what he is told or the explanations he's given. So I speak to the doctors and nurses, and try to interpret what they say for him.
I hear different things from different people. The surgeon says he is pleased with the way the wound is healing. The internal medicine doc believes that she will need long term acute care with hospice. The nurse I spoke to this morning didn't say this outright (she's a sweet girl and never would say it outright), but I got the distinct impression that she was surprised that Mother was still alive. My heart perks up when I hear the optimistic things, and sinks when I hear the realistic things, and it's the most horrifying emotional roller coaster I've ever experienced, because the ups and downs come not day to day, but moment to moment, depending on who I am talking to, and I feel constantly off-balance. But the pressure to remain even, to remain solid and strong, is relentless, and I cannot, even for a moment, let my own emotions slip out into the world, exposing me as a person who is less than I have advertised myself to be.
In these situations, there must be one person with a level head. Apparently, I am that person.
I'm finding myself increasingly BAD at it. And resentful of it.
There is a part of me that just wants to run away--to be able to sink myself into the mundane complexities of life, where problems come and get solved in a manageable way. I want to be able to make reliable plans, and to carry them out. I want to be able to think about something other than this.
I want to know what I'm doing.
My sister-in-law burbles on in Facebook about getting textbooks for her children and getting her oldest settled into a living situation at school, and talks about going to the beach, and the vacation they took in the mountains this summer...and I find myself hating her for the normality of her life. Because she and my brother and her family have managed it yet again--they made a clean getaway, and have wriggled themselves successfully out of the straitjacket of this entire situation. And they've been able to do it because I'm here, and because I cannot. They made their escape, and have done it without even having to think about it, because they don't have to.
Because I'm here.
And then those feelings make me feel even more helpless, because I seem to be powerless to be rid of them and to be at peace with who I am or what I'm doing or how I'm feeling. The resentment is even more disruptive than the situation itself, because all it manages to do is throw another emotional log on the fire, which makes it even harder to see the facts in a clear light. But I can't seem to rid myself of it.
And it sounds stupid, but I find myself envying the variety of their problems. Kids, car, house, school--all things to worry about, but stunning in their normality and enviable in their solvability. A beautiful, multi-colored list of normal, manageable problems.
How sweet that would be! What an incredible luxury!
I don't ask for a life without struggle--struggle is normal. But what I would give just to be able to MANAGE what I have, because I really don't know if I am managing this.
And I think about my therapist's office--the cool dim light and the comfy couch and the delightfully freeing experience of being able to say what I need to say, to someone who is not emotionally invested in the outcome.
I think it might be time.
I am grieving my mother, and she's not even gone. In fact, her going would be a healing for grief.
How fucking sick is that?