Hey there everyone. I’m back, though I have very few followers given I use this blog irregularly. I normally will write about animals, environment or nature and issues concerning those things. Today I’m adding to that writing list—-I will share some of my experiences about being a caretaker for my mom. This is a new role for me, sort of. Let me begin to explain.
My mom has lived with me since early 2010 but she wasn’t ill. She was simply older and she needed a small boost. It worked out fairly well. She was home with the pets when I was at work or traveled. There was no need for anyone to be with her all the time or every day.
Our relationship was always a bit rocky so back in 2010 when I first offered for her to move in I did so with caution. I also felt I needed something else to do so I started a master’s degree in environmental science. During introductions at the beginning of any new class I’d say, “well, my mom moved in with me and I wasn’t sure how it would work out being around one another everyday so I thought it would be a good time to finally start this this degree to have a place to go to in the evenings.” I finished that degree this past spring and my mom was too ill to attend my graduation. I felt saddened that after all this time of me working full time at my job and going to classes in the evenings, doing the field research and analyzing the results, and the writing and revising/writing and revising/writing and revising of the thesis, that my mom was not even able to attend the culmination of the work—my graduation ceremony.
After mom moved in with me my sister said I was a caretaker. I’d respond with “not really, because I’m not doing anything for mom other than most of the shopping.” That was then. That was before February 22nd. A Monday. A day I took off from work to take mom to the doctor to see if we could determine the cause of swelling in her feet. She did not keep the doctor’s appointment. She refused to go. She was in too much pain. She had fallen when I had gone to the store at her request. She also refused any help from the emergency medical technicians (EMTs) that came when I called 911. This is a typical response with my mom. Refusal of medical care. Non-compliance and combativeness—all normal behavior for my mom. After a day or so, I suspected she may have fractured a bone, but she still refused medical attention.
Her life changed that day, as did mine. I witnessed my mom’s severe and steady decline from that day forward and I did not know what to do or how to get her help. Our story will continue and it is constantly evolving, but now?
Now I am a caretaker.