Are We Going Crazy?

This last week has seemed to last an eternity. Mary’s physical ailments are clearing up, but in their stead is a mental and emotional turmoil that seems to only occur at night and which is threatening to loose my sanity from its stronghold as well as hers. I think I’ve gotten a grip on myself and can handle this, but I don’t know about Mary. For all the times I’ve ever written “poor Mary,” it was never as appropriate as now. I just want to gather her up in my arms and make everything all right.

At night, I guess around 9 o’clock, she starts thinking (“studying,” as she calls it) and worrying. She starts asking me odd questions or making odd comments. She’s concerned about her finances. She doesn’t know where she got any of the things that surround her, how she afforded them. She thinks she’s ill and no one (in the family, i.e., Anna and Angie) visits. A few nights ago, it wasn’t that bad. It was more that she’d wake up and be worried and I’d crawl in bed with her to calm her down. (I think she’s cracked a rib from scooting over in her bed.)—She’s gotten so that she doesn’t like me doing that anymore. At first, the sly thing, she’d tell me that she was concerned about MY not having any room and not being able to sleep, but when I told her that I was comfortable and would drop off to sleep any second now, she’s finally fess up and tell me that the problem was that SHE didn’t have enough room and wanted to lie in the middle of her bed! —But the night before last she started this questioning before bedtime. I told her that she had enough money in the bank to pay for everything. She was confused and wanted to know where it came from. I told her I wasn’t positive but thought it came from her three husbands. (Anna has told me in the meantime that each husband did leave her a fair amount but that she though Mary had made most of her money from some land that she and Demy, her second husband, had bought and then resold in smaller lots.) Well, this information seemed to come as a surprise to Mary. I don’t think she remembered that she’d had three husbands. She kept wanting to talk about money, and I finally told her, deciding that perhaps a change of tactic would help matters, that I didn’t want to hear any of it, that we’d discussed it all before and I was tired of hearing about it. She agreed to this. Maybe she knew she was harping on the subject. But then she hadn’t known about this and that she wouldn’t tell anybody she knew about it or that I’d told her. When I asked her what she was talking about, it became clear that she’d thought she was penniless and didn’t understand why no one had told her that she had some money. She seemed to think they (who???) were keeping it from her on purpose and that I’d let her in on a bit secret. Actually, it was kind of cute (if I can be so insensitive as to talk about her being cute in that state of mind) because a couple of times she’d say, since I’d forbidden her to discuss the subject any longer, “Bridget, can I ask you one more question? Just one more and that’s it.” If I agreed, then she’d ask me something crazy and repetitive, like why no one had told her about her money or where exactly it had come from. Oh, and she kept wanting to know where the money was, which bank. She didn’t recognize the name of her bank at all.

As you can imagine, this was really wearing on my nerves. Since she’d been waking up the last few nights, I decided to let her stay up late, thinking that if she were really tired, she’d sleep better. Not! “Sleepless in Seattle” was on, so it was even easier (yes, I’ll readily admit my weaknesses) to stay up. The move was over with at a quarter till one in the morning, at which point I insisted that we go to bed—Miss Mary was still quite bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Go figure. Well, she didn’t go to sleep. She just kept carrying on. I went back in several times. She kept wanting to know the name of the bank where her money was and why they hadn’t told her about her money and how did she get it. You know, part of what is so frustrating is that she asks the same questions over and over. I get so tired of repeating the same answers. I guess because I know that it’s like dropping water into a bucket. The answers just get sucked up in the void of her mind. And yet, I can’t just give her a nonsense answer or say I don’t know or whatever because that can set her off in another direction. But I hope I’m getting better at repeating the same answers. Oh, I tell you, I hope I’m getting better at dealing with this every day. I certainly can’t get any worse.

Yes, so when I went in around 2:30 AM and it was still all the same business, I lost it. I started yelling at her that I needed some sleep—I was getting a sore throat and felt a sinus infection (a clear sign of stress) coming on—and that I needed to stay healthy to take care of her and that I couldn’t just go to the doctor because I don’t have health insurance. All of that just made her more upset, as you can well imagine, and this plus my own annoyance at my losing my temper made me upset. I hate it when I lose it. It’s like I’m standing next to myself and, well, like I let go of the leash. You know, like when you’re walking a dog and it starts pulling and you know you can’t hold on to that leash without hurting yourself, so you just let go. Or it’s like I sense this ugliness welling up in me like a tsunami and some part of me just steps aside so that it doesn’t get crashed down upon. Yes, there’s a certain moment when I lose control and I KNOW it but I let it happen. I hate myself for that.

But even though I’d made her even more upset and miserable, she still kept on about her bank and money, so I got out a bank statement (with a lot of yelling and making it clear that I was furious) to show her how much she had and what the name of the bank was. To be honest, I don’t remember how everything ended. I think I finally got ahold of myself and tried to comfort her. Maybe that was when I realized she must have a cracked rib. I finally went back to bed. I heard her still in there talking to herself and God. I remember hearing her sleeping around five in the morning. Oh, yeah, she woke me up because I heard her saying, “Shut up!” I heard her say that last night, too. She said that before when she was hearing those voices. Is she still hearing them? I hate to ask. Or is she telling someone specific to shut up. Maybe it’s me!

In the morning, it started all over again. She acts like she’s going to cry and says that she thinks she’s going insane. I tell her she’s not, that it must be her medication or her UTI isn’t cleared up yet or it’s the full moon or SOMETHING but that she’s not crazy and we’re going to figure out how to make things better and that she doesn’t need to worry because I’m there for her and God isn’t going to let anything happen to her and maybe she needs to pray when she’s upset. Oh, did I tell you about how the other night she was even upset because she had left her church (catholic) and hadn’t been to church and was so afraid about dying and not having been to church for so long. I reminded her that she was a born-again Christian and how she’d been saved. She sort of remembered it. I named members of her church whom I knew. She knew them. She was quite confused about all of that. You know, if she were still catholic, we could say the Rosary together and I think it would comfort her. I don’t think her church has any set prayers. They just come from the heart, which is lovely but of little comfort when you’re so confused and upset that you can’t pray. Maybe I’ll try putting on her church music during the night when she gets so upset. Well, she probably couldn’t say the Rosary anyway—she can’t even seem to say Grace anymore, and this really, really upsets her. She’s had times when she’d stumble or just couldn’t remember it, but it’s never been so prolonged like this. Oh, God, I sincerely hope it is her UTI that hasn’t been wiped out. She’s still having the incontinence and I think her urine still smells funny, even though it is clear as a bell now… Oh, I’m so mad at myself for not seeing that she had a UTI! I always see that! I guess when you’re with someone every day, you don’t notice these things. Just like how people don’t notice that their daughters are pregnant because they see them every day.

My brother who is a nurse says that her doctor should give her something for depression or to help her sleep at night, even if it’s just a temporary fix. But I want to see about the UTI first. The nurse is going to take a urine sample on Friday. Will they do the test on Friday? I hope so! I’ve made an appointment with a podiatrist on Friday, too, so that day will be rather hectic. I really want to get those sores on her feet healed up. I think that will help her mental state a lot. I mean, she sits there at look down at her foot all day and wonders what’s wrong with it and it even hurts her sometimes (for no apparent reason)… And I can’t help but think that she’s getting weaker all the time… Although for the last few days she’s been quite happy during the day, sometimes even very cheerful, wanting to exercise and being really talky. Sort of like she manic-depressive. O je.

I got Mom to bring Anna over yesterday. I thought that might help cheer Mary up. I almost even wish Angie would come and stay a few nights. But I’m afraid it would be too distressing to see Mary so upset and confused. Plus, when Angie’s here and Mary gets up at night, Angie usually sleeps right through it, so she wouldn’t be any help. And, then, Angie’s got enough problems of her own. Mary did seem like she was better last night, so maybe it did help to have Anna here. Angie didn’t even call yesterday. So we didn’t call her, either. Partly because we get tired of always calling her and partly because maybe she needs a rest from Mary. I wish Mary’s foot was better and she wasn’t so shaky and then I’d take her out to visit Angie. Hm. Maybe Angie could get her daughter to bring her in here for a day and Mom could stay with Mary while I take Angie home.

I’m thinking about calling Bonnie, who used to look after Mary with Home Instead (that awful company), and setting up an afternoon every week for her to come and stay with Mary. That way I’d have a set day to do my shopping and pick up the mail and just be alone. But that, then, I would have less of an excuse to get Mary out of the house. But, then, maybe I shouldn’t take her out so much. Maybe it’s stressful and strenuous for her. Like at Christmas. I think now that it was a bad idea. That’s where her bronchitis came from. All that cold air. She needs rest. I have no idea what it feels like to be 94, but I imagine she needs a lot of rest. But too much rest is deadly, isn’t it? Oh, I just don’t’ know.

Mary woke me up at around four-thirty this morning. She’d had another bad dream that seemed real to her. It took me a while to figure out what it was about. She gets so upset and it seems so real that she can’t explain what it was about. I guess it seems so obvious to her. She woke me up when I heard her saying, “Oh, dear God, I’ll cry all the way there.” Apparently, her family had convinced her to move into a home and she was waiting for the movers to come, but no one came. Maybe she was so upset because she would have to go to the home without her furniture and without anyone from the family. I told her it was an anxiety dream, like the ones I have about a man chasing me and then my ripping or chopping him to bits or the ones where I have to sing and I can’t remember the words or nothing comes out or even the ones where I can sing like an angel and wake up to remember that it was only a dream and am confronted by the reality of being afraid and having technical problems and not having the guts or the venue to perform. Well, anyway, I finally got her to come out to the kitchen (not the living room because she was being rather insistent about wanting to call “someone”—Anna or Angie? —and I was afraid she’d grab the phone and do just that) and have a cinnamon roll and a cup of (decaf—that’s what it’s going to be from now until she gets settled again) coffee. She started feeling better almost immediately. When she was finished, she went back to bed. I tried to read a bit but my eyes hurt from being tired, so I tried to sleep but my mind wouldn’t rest, so I got back up. I’d like to get Mary up at nine (so I can get her back into getting up earlier and going to bed earlier), so I’d better go. I wanted to take a shower, but I don’t think I’ll have time now.
8:41 AM