Oil & Vinegar
I am supposed to go to the Island tomorrow and spend a couple of days with mom. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to make the trip…
Last night she e-mailed me wanting the phone number of the neurologist who diagnosed her so she could get a copy of her MRI. This set off all sorts of yellow flags. She and I are now in an e-mail squash match where my last volley was to remind her that the doctor Did Not say he would send her a disc of the MRI, nor a negative of it (because how do you print a negative of a 3-D image), that he did not show her the MRI on a negative but on a computer monitor and lastly, what it was about the MRI that he did explain to her. In all of this I have been called ‘incomprehensible and arrogant.’ Incomprehensible I get, but for different reasons than she means. She simply doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say, including that she nor I have the 6 years of post graduate work to read the darn thing. I gave her the docs phone number. We’ll see what happens next.
In prep for the trip to the Island mom asked that I gather certain things from her mainland home:
~ Her sewing machine, basket and table. She said nothing about the unfinished sewing projects so I’m not bringing them. They will add clutter and confusion to her cluttered and confused mind. I did include raw yardage as I think creating from scratch may be theraputic, even if those creations turn into unfinished sewing projects…
~ A packet of olive drab poplin my father bought at US army surplus decades ago. This was unfindable.
~ An accordion folder. This was unfindable.
~ Two mushroom books, one by a certain author. There are 23464 mushroom books at the house. I found one of them, but not the one whose author and title she recalls. All the current books about mushrooms are loaded. Hopefully my husband’s axel (I drive either his car or my truck to the Island) are up to the task of carrying so many mushroom books.
~ Her family photos. These I found in a box. There are many, many boxes of photos in her office. I was delighted that the first box I opened had her childhood picture in them, but had to go through each box looking for any others. Interesting to go back though time to where she was organized and wrote down what was in each envelope of photos.
During this frustrating hunting and gathering session my cousin called me. I had a therapy rant with him saying how God had never bestowed a lot of patience upon me, that I didn’t suffer fools at all and dementia makes fools of people rather a lot of time. He acknowledged this character flaw of mine and said, “It sounds like Oil and Vineger.” I have a visual, folks! And somehow, it helps. We’ll see how pissed off mom continues to be over our squash match and whether or not I’m still invited (or still want to go) to the Island. Meanwhile, I plow forth.