Diary of a Martial Arts Diva - Yes, She's My Sister, Yes, She's Whacked Out- JournalHome.com

6/18/2008 - Yes, She's My Sister, Yes, She's Whacked Out

So on Mother's Day, me and Joe (yes, the evil, bad, slacker daughter that I am) visisted some nursing homes. I dutifully submitted my findings to my sister, who is now the new Al "I'm in charge here" Haig. Heil! She was accpted at my first choice of facilities and was transferred there. I was due to meet my father there the next day or so. My sister called me all hysterical. She said that my father had called her that morning all upset and ready to transfer my mother out. I drove the 45 min. to the facility. There was my mother, a completely different person than I had seen in the hospital. In the hospital, she was unable to sit up or feed herself. She looked like she was not long for this world. In the nursing home, still feeble, but sitting up, she was able to feed herself and converse, although not entirely appropriately. I was really surprised and to this day cannot figure out how the transition came to pass. My father was perhaps a little bit of a complainer, but certainly not irrate by any means. He did mention that he thought the food was like that of a concentration camp. With deep deep apologies to Holocaust survivors and their families, I pointed out that older people often like blander food, and the soft consistency was easy to chew. When he mentioned the low height of the bed, I agreed that it would be a nightmare for someone with hip problems/replacement, but she's only about 5 feet, and would have less of distance to fall if she were to roll out of bed. He was fine. Then, although she said she wasn't going to come, my sister marched in looking like the Wicked Witch of the West had gone to comando school. Is there such a thing as comando school? Oh boy. My mother became almost agitated trying to figure out who my bro-in-law is, so my sister sent him long--to roam the grounds. To my surprise, my sister summoned me away from the day room (I call it) and in full earshot of the nurses station she lashed out with something like, "Hold me back! I can't take that man anymore. I swear!" I was low key as usual. I myself remained surprisingly calm, probably because what she was saying and how she was acting just wouldn't sink in. I just couldn't imagine what caused that absolute rage. Yes my father is reluctant to disclose financial information--you are supposed to be wary of nursing homes and avoid signing/disclosing stuff. "He wants to keep his money! For what? So he can take it to his GRAVE?" Picture her saying this and being so mad that she is shaking. We are talking fire and brimstone here. My father also grew up in the depression and is as famous for being a tight wad as my sister is for being an exaggerator. Calgon, take me away. Then she referred to her husband as, "I dont' want to be married to THAT man". Oh brother. Why is it always me.I attract 'em like flies I do. I must be wearing some sort of sign on my back. Keep in mind, that with all this hatred and frantic behavior, nothing is going to bring my mother back to being the woman we know and love. Her demeaner would be more appropriate in reaction to a young person who was in some horrific accident and now depended on us to make life and death decisions and to police the health care workers to make sure they are up to date with the latest technology. This is an evolving story. I have yet to come to the point where I describe the message that my sister left. I will try to post a link to the voicemail, which was sent to the computer. My mother's fate remains unknown....sort of. She's not going to get her memory back. She's not going to be restored to her former self. I've come to realize that. Will my sister? Or should I say....my ESTRANGED sister.