It finally happened. I have found myself suddenly and solidly at my end-point with my Mother. For 33 years, I've allowed my guilt to keep me tied to her. Held hostage by a bond that was completely one-sided and more to appease my own conscience than anything else. 33 years I've played the parent to her child; nursed her through addictions and cancer, was the only constant and dependable person in her life, dried her tears, cleaned her filth, and did my best to make her happy. 33 years allowing myself to be used up by her, never being able to trust her, but always coming to her aid when she was struggling. 33 years of her never ever ever doing the same for me. Her only daughter.
2 days ago I got a phone call from my brother's girlfriend telling me my Mom had "lost it". She was pooping herself, trying to light things on fire, and was totally out of control. Instead of the people (her boyfriend, my brother, my brother's girlfriend, her boyfriend's son) who were with her at the time calling 911 to get her help, I was called upon to once again step in when things got hairy. I called 911, got the ambulance headed to her house, then left my children at home w/ my husband and headed to my Mom's house. I had just missed the ambulance when I pulled into her driveway. Her boyfriend & his son were just sitting on the porch, smoking cigarettes. Neither of them cared enough to even go with her or follow the ambulance. Her boyfriend stood up when I pulled into the driveway and started to say something and I said "I don't want to hear it. Fuck off!" and drove toward the hospital. I managed to catch up with the ambulance and pulled into the parking lot behind it. As they were unloading my mom on a stretcher, I went and checked in w/ reception so I could be taken back to be with her right away. Still no boyfriend. Still no brother. No one else but me.
For several hours I sat by my Mom's side while the nurse commented many times about how dehydrated my Mom was. They tried to get an IV in her arm, but she was far too dehydrated. They did an ultrasound, they tried warm water, and eventually managed to get an IV going. She had her own feces on her pants, all over her hands, and on her face. She was drunk and didn't even know her age. (She said she was 18 when the nurse asked her age.) She didn't know what city we were in or what year it was. (She said 10-18, which is her birthdate.) And through it all, I was there at her side. When they were putting in her IV, saying it would be extremely painful b/c it was a longer needle than usual, I distracted her with pictures of the grandchildren she hadn't seen in months. When they finally decided to admit her, I went home, only to return first thing the next morning and spend 2 more hours by her side.
Today I called up to her room to make sure she was awake before I drove up to the hospital to see her. No answer. I waited an hour and a half before calling again. Still no answer. This time I asked to be transferred to the nurse's station, where I was informed that she had been discharged. No phone call to the ONLY person who had been there by her side the whole time. No consideration. Nothing. This is exactly the way she has been my entire life and seeing history repeating itself; seeing her boyfriends and her addictions being of higher importance than her children or grandchildren, is where I draw the line. I'm done. Caput. Fin.