Mom left the tub running again and went into her room. Then called to me, alarmed, because the tub was filling up.
It’s a tub. If you leave the faucet running at full force, it will fill up. She thinks it has to run for a few minutes for the water to heat up, and I can’t shake her of that notion, which is why every freaking day she takes a shower in three inches of standing water unless I get to the shower diverter first. Except today she just walked out of the bathroom altogether.
She’s demanding I call a plumber, but I know there is nothing wrong with the drain. It never backs up when I take a shower. I told her I would call a plumber only to get her to drop it.
I had to ask her multiple times this morning to take her pills. Like always. Every day. It’s not like I can just shove them down her throat like you do with a cat. Or put them on a spoon with peanut butter like I do for the dog. Or hover over her like a shadow until she takes them. That just makes her mad.
It took me 20 minutes of telling her she had to get going for her shower in time for her friend to pick her up for lunch at 11:30. Now, she’s likely to be late. Again.
I’m tired of nagging her to take her pills.
I’m tired of nagging her to get moving when she has somewhere to be.
I’m tired of jumping out of my skin when she calls to me from across the house in a tone that makes me think she’s down on the floor in a pool of blood only to find she can’t comprehend the tub. Yes, of course, I’m relieved it is latter and not the former. It’s the jumping out of my skin several times a day.
I’m tired of feeling like the only way to avoid jumping out of my skin is to literally follow her around the house.
I’m tired of having to deal with people who have no clue exactly what it means to care for someone with memory loss and cognitive impairment. The other evening I nearly throat punched someone (who is barely even an acquaintance and who I don’t care for in any event) who shoved her nose into my business by contradicting how I was helping Mom order dinner. The mere fact that I did not tell this person to fuck off is a testament to what frayed patience I have left.
I’m tired of feeling like I should pretend that I’m not tired, and feeling guilty when I don’t do a good job of pretending that I’m not tired.
I’m tired of feeling embarrassed that I am tired.
I’m tired of having the devil on one shoulder saying I should be better at this than I am, and the angel on the other shoulder telling the devil to fuck off.
I’m tired of losing my patience with those who mean well, but just don’t understand.
I’m just plain tired.