Unforseen - U

There's usually no telling what's in store when you get out of bed. Gain consciousness. Alive, check. Getting out of bed (or getting assistance to do so). Systems functional, check. Curve ball in 3, 2, 1.

There are swaths of years where my mom has a few touch and go weeks at most and scheduled visits with her psychiatrist are enough to keep her well. The last year or so, I've been battling the building dread that the stars are aligning for another breakdown.

For those new to the blog, my mom is a survivor of childhood abuse and has a mental illness. Since her initial psychotic break several decades ago, she averages a stay in a psychiatric hospital about once every ten years. Despite medicine, despite all forms of assistance, she spirals so far out we can't reach her. The first few days away, she wants nothing to do with us. Not because she's there, but because as the patient with the right to limit access to her on the ward, she relishes the control and is punishing us for what the delusions and hallucinations have made her believe. Usually by day 3 or 4, we finally hear from her and are allowed in the unit. Within a day or two after that she wants to know when she can come home. We are, I'm afraid, right on time for another stay.

Things always start off with our version of normal. A friend of mine pointed out on a matter completely unrelated that as a special needs teacher, he unconsciously applies adjustments in a difficult situation to make it easier. I realized a lifetime with someone as fragile as my mother, so do I. So we make accommodations. I talk her through the random hiccups she has in reality. Or we talk with her doctor and adjust medicine as needed. Etcetera and so forth. There are warning signs, an uptick in certain behaviors, a reduction of others. But we're so focused on getting through each day when she's having difficulties, it's not easy to see the pattern of a brief issue is actually part of a bigger, building problem until the explosion comes.

She's been mercurial of late, evoking an emotionally unstable with shades of manipulative teenager. Slightly manic. Coming out of the roller coaster of the last month and change, it's not necessarily cause for alarm. When she has a rough period, there's a bit of evening out that has to take place before she hits her version of balance.

So on an ordinary morning, my dad got her up and had her breakfast ready. She comes to the table with fire in her eyes.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself."

Dad freezes. The tone of voice, the look in her eye. She's ready for battle.

"Huh?"

"You know what you did." Words my dad must hear in his nightmares, along with "We need to talk." Nothing good ever comes after those statements from my mom. And I'm not talking about him making an inappropriate joke in public or her dressing him down for not liking dinner (She refuses to cook now anyway, but I'm short on examples.). I'm talking wild and growing flights of fantasy, starring him as the villain. A complete separation from reality. When she gets this far, she replaces her abuser with my dad. 50+ years ago is taking place right now. I figured that out the last time she had to go to the hospital. The first time I was at the front line with my dad.

I won't, for a few reasons, say here what Mom finally revealed she believed he had done to her. For one thing, there's no way you'd believe me. For another, I believe it ties into a new obsession for  her, a fixation that probably ties into the abuse she suffered as a child. What I will say is she accused my father of pranking her. Doing something I'm sure there's at least 100 videos of being passed around social media at this very moment to break up the monotony of the work day. Childish, but not evil. Short-sighted and immature, but not dangerous. In the vein of drawing a penis in permanent marker on a person's face or writing a naughty word on a person in sunscreen on the beach.

By the time I arrived on the scene today, things had been stewing for a bit. My father was completely frazzled. He'd be loath to admit it, but he was deeply hurt. Time has taken a toll on my mother's ability to regain a more even keel. But time has also taken a toll on my dad's ability to handle what she slings his way when she's not herself. She's accused him of far, far worse things at the height of her delusions. This supposed prank though, is one straw too many. My mother by this point had cloaked herself in self-righteousness, martyrdom and spite. Her hobby of late is to isolate my dad and pick him apart like a piece of carrion. Harsh, but accurate. And he is too bullheaded to stop trying to tackle each situation on his own.

Delusional Mom doesn't like my interference. As a referee, as a negotiator, as anything. I'm not helping calm things down. I'm thwarting her. The look on her face, her behavior, the way she refuses to talk. All these things point to the very thing I don't want to see. Dad said he recognized it, too. Her against us all. I have visions of hysterical sobbing all night. Of maniacal glee radiating from what should be my mom's face as she spits horrible, venomous things my way. Of ever wilder accusations, of things I couldn't even fathom being visited upon a human, let alone being accused of doing.

I've left a message with her psychiatrist. She's got a full load of patients and Mom's not a danger to herself right now, so I'll probably hear from her after 5. I want you to take a moment to imagine my trying to explain my concern about my mother's mental state to a receptionist over an imaginary prank.

"....Is....is she...afraid her husband's going to harm her?"

No, I explain. She's convinced he just wants to be rid of her, that he wants to leave. It's a precursor to a hospital stay. Trying to avoid that.

"Right. Got it. I'll give the doctor your message when she's between patients." I'm impressed there was only a slight falter on her end. Because it sounded ridiculous to explain.

As we wait for the doctor to call, Mom has taken some time to reflect. She still believes in the memory, but offered that perhaps she dreamed it. Dad asked how she dreamed it if she came up with it after she'd been awake. Mom is intelligent. Mom used to be a psychiatric nurse. Mom wants to change tactics to avoid going to the hospital. Mom doesn't like Dad's question. She offers to go stay with one of my siblings, her favorite child, out of state as a response.

If you're scratching your head trying to understand what her having a delusion, of her not being a danger to herself has to do with our seeing a trip to the hospital, well we've got decades experience with her. I know how this act of the play pans out. Religious zealot a few weeks ago. Delusions of persecution and mockery. Her against us. She's got a progression and the dots are lining up. I'm sincerely hoping this time we can head things off. But that's never been done before. And if she needs round the clock care to help get back to herself, I want to get that established before she's in a deep dark hole and has to stay in for several weeks.