Rock of Ages
One of the greatest planetary stereotypes is the ill-meaning mother-in-law. They are cast as vicious bitches who hate the men who are never good enough for their little boy or underhanded and manipulating witches who believe their son’s wife is no damn good.
I suppose there are some of those out there, each of you would know and I wouldn’t presume to challenge your knowledge or perception. My mother-in-law is simply old and nuts. She has a right to be a little whacky; she’s endured a couple of strokes and a heart attack, and her circuits have been scrambled.
My mother in law answers the remote when the telephone rings and complains bitterly about the lousy telephone service. We have cable television and she is forever hitting the television channel button instead of the power button. This renders the cable useless by taking the tube off of channel 3 which is needed by the converter box to work. So she sits patiently staring at the static snow on the screen wondering when the picture will return. Sometimes at night she will move through the house, devoid of clothing, turning on all of the lights and stepping outside to check for burglars. Most peculiar is that she has lost her mental timebase and believes it’s the 1970s and will try to continue conversations she was having back then with family members. Her memories are sharp in some ways and dull in others, much to the consternation of her children. She may still be angry over some small incident that happened decades ago and lash out about it, totally confusing the object of her attack.
How difficult must it be to be her? I wonder that constantly. I have a few large holes in my memory. This was the gift of Velcade and chemotherapy. I recall that I married my wife, and some of the photos taken at the tiny ceremony bring some recognition. But actually, I don’t recall it. This bothers me no end because sometimes I want to remind myself or my wife of the vows we took, but damned if I know what they are. But what is it like to be this poor woman who suffers severe arthritis pain, has hallucinations, is extremely intelligent, yet has the emotional stature of a four year old child?
It certainly can’t be easy.
Yet, for all practical purposes she looks fine. I mean, she’s in her 80s and so she’s no spring chicken, but she looks like an intelligent and engaging woman. So it’s very destabilizing to visit with her, even for a few minutes. She also happens to be quite stubborn, and this takes a severe toll on the patience of those who try to provide her care. Dementia is an horrific condition and it hits a lot of people. Most of the time it is the elderly, but younger people can surely suffer it too. Traumatic brain damage can bring it on, as can the accidental or intentional ingestion of toxins.
Sometimes the manifestations of dementia can be amusing. At least until the basis of the weirdness of is remembered. But they can be dangerous as well. Those who suffer dementia can do just fine right up until they put something wrapped in aluminum foil into the microwave for 99 minutes and leaves the kitchen. Or stuffed a sandwich into the toaster only to be discovered in flames licking at the base of the cabinets above by a family member. Then too, stepping outside at 3am in the morning to confront burglars that are real this time, rather than imagined is cause for alarm.
At times I believe that my mother-in-law should be in a home for the elderly where there is 24/7 supervision. It’s a good idea right up until I think of how disoriented the poor woman is now. What would it be like surrounded with strangers, especially strangers suffering the same problems and issues she does? The advertisements always show old people laughing and playing cards, having their hair done, playing ping pong or dining in relative elegance while engaging in compelling conversations. The more accurate image is people alone like little islands in wheelchairs, staring myopically into space. Theirs is a waiting game of life, where they spend days at a time waiting for the next time a relative or friend drops in for a visit. Some just wait for their clock to run out.
I did work at a few retirement homes, installing internet and telephone systems. The residents would make me crazy wanting to talk to me and even to touch me while I was trying to get my job done. It took me a while to understand just how starved they were for companionship and belonging, some of the older women even alluding to wanting sex; this, I suppose in an effort to feel more alive, to feel the touch of caring, or perhaps live memories vicariously as they would call me names I didn’t recognize. It was heartbreaking. So no, I applaud my wife’s decision to keep her mother at home where she had the recognizable trappings of her life, and was surrounded by people she knew –even if she was mad at them for a long forgotten tiff.
I have to applaud my mother-in-law as well. As best she can, she confronts her life with certain dignity and kindness, even if it is sometimes hard to recognize, camouflaged by her symptoms. Talk about your rock of ages; I hope I perish rather than to live in such a disconcerting and confusing world as she must.
