Anxiety On Wheels

Tag: suicide

  • Mom back in hospital & state police involved now

    Got a frantic phone call this morning, apparently mom was at the police department going on about how her family is poisoning her as she doesn’t want to take her antibiotics and kidney medication. To be clear, not that anyone has been forcing her or otherwise doing anything other than filling her pill organizer with the exacting medication and dosages from the list the hospital provided.

    She was in the ICU a few times by now with sepsis due to this exact thing, and it’s not the first time the police have been called out to the house by any means.

    The paramedics were apparently at the house last night and verified the correct dosages and medications.

    The situation has devolved into such a poor state that anyone who tries to caretake for mom could very well end up on the receiving end of a false police report, which makes it unwise to be in contact with her for fear of their own legal well being.

    I’m personally concerned that I may be targeted due to my refusal to move home and mom’s insane rants about how terrible of a person I am for not doing so. It’s not that I don’t want to be there, I want to help mom.

    I’m just not sure what else I could possibly communicate on this blog, or otherwise that doing so is not safe. Not for the abuse and name calling she dishes out, for the history of false police reports and insane rants about the government monitoring her, and the flying monkeys of people mom enlists who are financially motivated as she is loud about having money and actively demonizes her husband, children in her life.

    There are genuinely good people out there reaching out, trying to help, thank you. It’s an impossible situation and my deepest apologies for not being as controlled and stoic about the situation in the pages of my blog as I could have been. Mike committed suicide, mom had her first melt down at my house and after several hours of insane rambling, the police carried her kicking and screaming out of my front door. Mom becomes very paranoid about people “keeping her in the hospital” and the insane rants and suspicion is shared widely.

    If you think this specific situation is insane, it’s been what Mike, Jade and the family have been dealing with semi-privately for months now, and why Mike committed suicide.

    It’s been a nightmare.

    This is the.. 10th time I believe she’s been in the hospital. I’m questioning to myself, how does it get worse from here, and, how many days until she’s back home again doing the same thing?

    Edit: going through previous posts to review, look at what I found from August?

    Edit: and yet another one

    annnddd another from July.

    Just to be clear, I later learned that Mike indeed did the best he possibly could and he did try to keep her in the hospital past a certain point, the issue is that the hospital can’t, and it makes sense, even if it’s not ideal.

    If someone is conscious and able to tell what day it is, the hospital deems them of sound mind, even if they warn the patient and family members they will die if released and return home to do the same things again. The only time a POA or Medical Directive can take effect is that if the patient is on a ventilator or otherwise completely incapacitated.

    There is something called emergency guardianship, and I think it’s time to approach that just to ensure that she goes to rehab or a nursing home for a week or two to get stable, instead of in and out of the ICU every week, or like Dr. Mohammad said, she may not make it until Christmas

    Edit:

    I’ve had to block her.

  • Setting the record straight

    Kasey and I went over; it was time for us to collect our things out of the garage from the last time we stayed there. I don’t really know where to start or how to move forward, and I know I’m feeling very emotional right now. So, warning, dear reader—shield your children’s eyes.

    No one wants to get a call from their mother’s doctor saying she’ll be gone in a few weeks if she keeps doing the same things over and over. She’s been hospitalized nine times now, many of which were completely preventable. And not preventable like “don’t smoke or you’ll get cancer,” but deliberate, very unwise, specific things like not taking antibiotics when she has sepsis.

    Or not regulating sodium intake properly, an issue since September, which directly impacts memory and cognition. Or starving herself and consuming so much liquid that her kidneys now only function at about 17%, pushing her close to kidney failure.

    Mike is gone, in large part because of her. Yes, he had his own issues—back pain, depression—but she pushed him over the edge. Imagine your wife retiring and making travel plans, only for everything to turn upside down: getting screamed at, having things thrown at you, the police called, threats of divorce, and more for months on end. All while trying to ensure she takes her medication so she doesn’t die, cleaning her wound so it doesn’t get infected, or trying to get her into rehab because the doctors say she’s going to die if she keeps doing the same harmful things over and over again. Mike tried so hard to keep her alive, yet she made him out to be some kind of monster. I honestly understand why he felt so hopeless. I wish he had just packed up and gone to California like he said he would, anything other than suicide.

    You didn’t deserve any of this, Mike.

    And I’m sorry that our deeply flawed medical system didn’t allow you to properly care for her. Not your fault.

    Like I said the first time Kasey and I left, I’m not open to being called names, screamed at in front of everyone, or made out to be a terrible person because I don’t jeopardize my life, quit my job, and endure abuse. Especially when I’m expected to just go along with her belief that antibiotics are poison, that the government is spying on her through Bluetooth, and all the rest of it. I don’t care if it’s my mom, and I guess I don’t care if she’s dying—no one gets a free pass to openly abuse others, especially when they’re trying to help.

    And what’s the point, anyway, when any help one might give is literally helping her harm herself? Tonight’s disagreement started because I refused to hand her the pill bottles after she claimed “Jade messed up her meds” and went off on some unrelated rant about not having a POA. I refused to hand them over because I’m not going to assist her in taking just “Vitamin C” as ordered by “cancer doctor,” or indulge the idea that “sodium causes high blood pressure” in this context. It’s all nonsense.

    I’m stammering here because my next instinct is to defend myself—to say that I do care, I’m scared, and I don’t want my mom to die. I even woke up with night terrors, dreaming she was dead. But this situation has been so uniquely awful, so extreme, that frustration and anger drown out everything else.

    Kasey and I took our RV over there for a single night in August. We lasted one night. I work remotely, a 9-to-5, and my job was already unstable due to layoffs. I stayed up until 1 a.m. trying to convince her to take her antibiotic. It took hours of dealing with rambling nonsense. I finally got to bed around 2 or 3 a.m. Exhausted at work the next day, I got woken up at 8 a.m. and brought into the house, Kasey too, to be screamed at that we weren’t doing enough. Both Mom and Mike yelling, going on and on. We lasted one night.

    Kasey rightfully walked out, and I was right behind her. Kasey isn’t even part of this, and no one gets to scream at my partner, period. I lost that job soon after.

    But it just goes on and on. I don’t have the energy to detail every awful and abusive thing. Mom has this narrative that everyone treats her like a “child,” and she demonizes anyone who doesn’t want to help her destroy herself. Mike is gone because he wouldn’t just pretend everything was fine while she refused to help herself. My sister walked in from collecting her father’s ashes and was berated for not magically having Mom’s breakfast ready before work. It’s all just beyond understanding—awful, sad, and infuriating.

    And I’m done. I said my goodbyes, and this is what I’m forced to remember her as: a harmful, confused person who likely doesn’t even know what’s going on. Meanwhile, others circle around, willing to agree with her so they can get what they want, or a handout as they need the money.

    We’ve got probate, Mike’s estate, business matters, in-home aide options that I spent days researching. But I’m a liar, I’m useless, and she already wrote me off after I left the first time. Fine. Good luck, then. Thanks for calling the attorney to tell him not to talk to me, because I’m apparently such an awful person.

    Maybe I need to be the “bastard son,” because I’d much rather deal with that than live knowing I helped my mother end her own life.