I’m tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was ruthlessly jerked awake at six-thirty in the morning by a phone call. I groggily listened to who it was, expecting it to be spam. Nope. It was my father saying , “Hello, hello?” in a very vacant tone. I could hear my mother saying something in the background, but it was in Taiwanese. This was on my voicemail, by the way. I tried to forget it and fall asleep again. Juuuuuuust as I drifted off, my phone rang again. It was my father. Again. with my mother talking in the background. Again.
I tried to fall asleep, but it wasn’t easy. When I woke up, I had an email from my mother explaining that my father insisted on talking to ‘Minna’s mother’, who, apparently lived with me–and that he wanted to go home. My mother said she tried to tell him no and said that I was probably asleep. That upset him so she called me twice for him.
Then she called my brother who was able to mollify my father. My mother concluded by saying that my father calmed down and fell asleep. She concluded by saying that she hoped he would sleep through the night. You may notice that there wasn’t any apology to me or any acknowledgement that she fucking interrupted MY sleep. Twice. Nope. That wasn’t an issue in her mind, apparently.
As I have said before, it’s clear that my father is the only person who matters to her. When they were here last, I realized that she would cheerfully sacrifice me if it benefited my father. I didn’t expect it to be so blatant, though. My sleep didn’t matter to her if my father was agitated.
Here’s where the title of the post comes into play. She’s a psychologist. She should know about dementia, but…she doesn’t. I know it’s different when it’s someone you love, but she stubbornly refuses to believe the basic truths about dementia. One, don’t argue with the patient about whatever they’re saying. They won’t understand why you’re arguing, and it just makes it worse for them. She says she can’t lie to him, but it’s not lying if he doesn’t recognize the truth.
Another issue is that she doesn’t have many tools in her toolbox. I will say without hesitation that dementia is brutal. It’s hard to deal with, especially as she is old and not in the best health herself. And she’s in a society that believes dementia is a moral failing, not a disease. That means that there are not as many resources for it in Taiwan than in America.
The bigger issue, though, is that she can be her own worst enemy. I recognize this because I do it myself. On the one hand, I tend to catastrophize. I think about the worst possible outcome and fixate on it. On the other hand, I don’t prepare for the outcomes that will probably actually happen–especially if they’re negative. I try not to think about it, but let the disaster scenarios play in my mind instead.
Having said that, I am really good in an emergency. I think it’s because I catastrophize so much that nothing in this reality can faze me. When I was in a minor car accident (she ran into me), my mind slowed down as I saw the car coming at me. My brain thought, “I am going to get hit”, and I immediately relaxed. Her car smashed into me and it was physically jarring.
Afterwards, the young woman in the other car was freaking out. She was screaming and crying, and I could tell that she was panicking. She was Indian (from India), which made me feel protective of her. Plus, she was very young–it seemed as if she had just gotten her license. There was a young man sitting next to her, and she called someone to come get him. He talked to me before he left, his eyes huge with concern. I assured him that I was fine, and he seemed relieved that I wasn’t yelling or screaming myself.
I was sitting on the curb and felt as if I was outside of my body. I was preternaturally calm, and I watched in curiosity as everyone around me was hustling and bustling. The cop came without me doing anything–probably someone called him. He took my statement, and he made it clear that the young woman had taken full responsibility for the accident.
When she talked to me before the police came, she was in a high emotional state. She kept repeating that her father was going to kill her, and she was close to tears. I told her in a soothing voice that her father was not going to kill her. She said that he needed the car (SUV) for work, and then repeated that he was going to kill her. I told her that he could take an Uber or a taxi, and it would be fine.
It was in the back of my mind how ironic it wsa that I was the one comforting her when she was the one hitting me. That’s my role in life, though. I was the comforter, and for the most part, I was fine with it. I honestly did not want her to feel bad.
I walked away with only a huge bruise on my stomach. My mother warned me for weeks that I would rpboblay get whiplash becauase she knew so many people that had. That was her anxiety talking, I knew, but it was irritating to me. I did not need to have that in the back of my mind, thank you very much. I had my own anxiety so I did not need to stack hers on top of mine. If that was her way of dealing with her anxiety, she could have kept it to herself.
I have at times told her to use her inside vice when she’s nattering about her anxiety. It’s not a nice thing to say, but it’s true. And it actually works sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t, but I’ll take a 50% success rate over nothing.
I don’t know what to do about my mother. I have mostly been shining her on because tthat’s all I can do. But I cannot tolerate phone calls at that time. I have had to set phone call boundaries at night with her and with my brother. I didn’t think I’d have to set morning boundaries as well.
I know dementia sucks. It’s really hard on everyone. But I need my sleep. Before I ended up in the hospital, I had shitty sleep. It’s another boon I’ve gotten from my medical crisis–the ability to actually get eight hours a night. I will not give that up for anything.