The Plunge

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I’ve made some big changes in my life. Bold, adventurous, as though I’m totally confident, fearless, and have everything together. Not. Even. Close. I’m good at blagging. Decent enough at organizing the bigger picture. The finer details? Hmmm. Not so much. And I procrastinate. Far too much. So it’s taken longer than I’d like to admit to take the plunge. Not a simple dip in a heated pool, knowing where the deep end is - since it’s emblazoned on the walls. Not a soothing swim off a Mediterranean costa, my towel waiting for me, and a glass of sangria chilling in the fridge. No. This plunge is the mother of all plunges. Into the vast unknowns.

To clarify.

Mum’s ill. I’m her carer. And caring for her, now, has become more than I can manage. It’s affecting me mentally and physically, and I’ve been on a dangerously low ebb for a while. The pandemic didn’t help. My feeling of being trapped increased. Moving during the pandemic was supposed to help. Only mum’s previously mild cognitive decline suddenly sped up into something that has scared me, baffled me, and made me question my relationship with her. How has it happened so quickly? We’ve moved many times in the past. Mum was the wife of an army officer. Moving house was a way of life. My childhood normal.

But the brain is a complex machine, connected via a myriad of neural pathways, blood vessels. If one or more of those are damaged, either through aging or lifestyle, or because of disease, then the brain gradually dies. Its host then exhibits unusual behaviour. Rambling incoherently. Rambling coherently. Talking to people who aren’t there. Thinking household appliances, etc are people. Memory loss. Cognitive struggles. Time struggles. Problems getting dressed, or choosing an outfit. Problems with personal hygiene and eating. The list goes on. Mum’s condition is still undiagnosed. Or at least there’s a report somewhere, but we’ve yet to find out what it says. So I’m presuming that mum has a dementia, without knowing which disease is causing it.

And so, as mum’s moods swing ever aggressively, due to fear and confusion. As she becomes more frail and less able to function. As she loses herself in the meanderings of her damaged brain. It was time to make a decision. One I thought I’d never have to make. A decision that means that after nearly two decades of supporting one another, of having such a strong bond as mother and daughter, I had to conclude that our relationship had become untenable. Toxic, even. The lack of sleep has gotten to me. Mum often wakes at 3:30 am for a wee. Earlier this year she’d visit me every hour after midnight, confused about time, and frightened to go to the loo on her own. Now it’s usually once a night, but it takes its toll. And sometimes those visits, if I’m asleep and mum has to wake me, are frightening for me. Mum’s had a tendency to shake me awake, then gets verbally abusive or aggressive, confused about who I am, and why the “staff” aren’t there to help her go home. She mentions going home a lot. I don’t know which home she means. And she can’t tell me. Possibly home to where she grew up over seventy years ago. Possibly oour home in Kendal, where she lived for thirty years.

In the meantime, I’ve become depressed, reclusive, and wondered whether there was anything worth living for. I’ve had to find something. Knowing that mum needs professional care, in a residential home, or our relationship will fracture even more. Knowing that I can’t handle her needs alone.

So I took the plunge. I wrote a letter the powers that be and told them that I can’t care for her anymore. I’ve explained my issues, and hers. And gave them notice. Six months’ notice. So they can find her someplace suitable. So she’ll be looked after ‘round the clock, with someone on hand who can communicate more effectively than I can. I struggle to hold a conversation with her. I struggle to understand her. And I get irritable due to lack of sleep.

I feel guilty, yet I know it’s the right decision. I can’t beat myself up about it. That helps nobody. I feel as though I’ve cast off, with a tentative plan for my future, once mum’s settled. I have to. For my sanity and hers.