Chattering-Magpie-blog
Forget happy drugs. I'll settle for not-freaking-out drugs.
I visited Mom Tuesday and it was back to the same ol’ same ol’. She was upright in her chair, jacket on, with her purse, ready to leave. We had to get out of there so we could talk. “They” are getting rid of residents “and not by discharge,” Mom said. Plus, those other two (the other two women in her room) were spies.
We rolled out and down the street. Mom asked if I had my cell phone with me. She wanted to catch the first taxi we could see. I asked her tell me what was going on and she insisted that we had to get away from there, then she would tell me everything I wanted to know.
It was pretty noisy on the street, so I rolled us into a Winchell’s for a cup of coffee. Mom didn’t want anything. I don’t know the last time she ate. I still didn’t get anything more out of her. She just wanted to leave.
The frustrating thing is there’s nothing I can say or am willing to do to set her mind at ease. Sure I could bundle her up in the car and drive, but in the end I’d have to turn right around and take her back to the care facility.
I rolled Mom back to the facility after awhile and left her angry with me because I wouldn’t help her. I reminded her she had two doctor appointments on Friday. She said it didn’t matter because she would be dead by then.
The next morning I called her doctor. Nurse called back to say that doctor increased her dosage of her anti-psychotic.
