That Girl
    Despite my revelation night before last about who my mother is and how I need to use this as I continue as her companion and caregiver, when I retired that night I wondered if this was going to be an emotional burp that would be forgotten in the unadorned reality of the days to come. I hoped not, but made peace with the possibility that it might gather dust under the layers of daily detail. I slept on this moment of advance forgiveness.
    Yesterday, visiting with the Hospice RN, as I watched my mother work to contain her desire to converse while the nurse took a few vitals, she suddenly appeared, That Girl, the one in the picture (link in the title to this post), eyes twinkling, enjoying the attention, making easy of her situation (and, why shouldn't she, there's certainly no benefit to making hard of it, for her, anyway, considering her character), ready to prod either the RN or me with a snappy comeback once the conversation continued.
    Then, last night, during night-sleep prep, I left Mom alone in the bathroom for about two minutes in order to take the garbage to the curb. This may sound like an odd lapse, but it isn't. Mr. Man, one of our cats, has become her constant bathroom companion. He is also the cat who works diligently to escape the house every time I approach the door. I try to plan my goings out when he is either obliviously asleep or when he is in the bathroom with my mother. I always explain to my mother, prior to leaving the two together, why I am taking advantage of the moment and that I'll return "in a flash", thus, she is to stay seated, relax and "do nothing". She usually cooperates.
    It probably took me less than two minutes to move our garbage cans to the curb. As I was trotting back to the house I had a sudden vision of my mother deciding to undress the upper half of her body, thus taking out her cannula, which lays over her clothes, in order to remove her blousing. My trot turned to a gallop. Sure enough, she was sitting on the toilet, completely naked, the cannula having been tossed onto the seat of the wheelchair with her sweater and bra. She wasn't desperate for breath, yet, so I figured I returned immediately after the act. I replaced the cannula and started an autonomic upbraid. "Mom," I scolded, "you cannot go for even a minute without your oxygen, anymore. You have to be very careful of that cannula. If you remember nothing else, remember this: Merrily taking off that cannula spells death for you, within a very few minutes." I was going to continue, in order to attempt to make an impression, but I noticed that she was glaring back at me like an imp caught in a deliberate act. That Girl. There she was, again.
    "I know, I know," clearly and unappreciatively exasperated. "You keep telling me that! One of these days, I'm going to stop breathing anyway, you know!"
    Brought me to a shocked halt. I laughed, I couldn't help it, at That Girl; actually, I think I may have been laughing with That Girl, laughing in the face of Death. Not only, I realized, is she fully aware that she will be dying one of these days, but her attitude seems to be, "Bring it on, see what I care, if You (addressing Death) have a right to fiddle with me, I have a right to live any way I want!" Definitely a That Girl attitude.
    I reached across what used to be the divide between her and me and patted the cannula, then her cheek. "Well, you're right about that," I said. "I have an interest in keeping you around as long as possible, though. Please know, Mom, I won't try to keep you here when you're ready to go. That's why I ask you, when I'm unsure. But, you know, don't you think it makes sense, right now, anyway, since it doesn't seem like you're ready to die yet..."
    "Oh, no, you're right about that," she interrupted. "Not tonight."
    "...well, then, if, at any time, what's standing between you and Death is just cannula placement, do you mind if I put it back in your nose?"
    "I can do that."
    "Okay. I'll keep an eye on it and let you know it when you need to put it back in."
    She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I have no doubt about that!"
    So, I guess I needn't worry. That Girl knows now, I think, that I've seen and acknowledged her. She knows I'm on her side and will do everything I can to nurture That Girl Who Is until she becomes That Girl Who Was and, depending on the fundamental nature of the universe, Continues to Be.
    After these incidents I had one more tiny, interpretive revelation: Regardless of what the experts might have to say about the meaning of stalking dreams, and, of course, I'd made a mental note to check, I've decided on my personal interpretation: The stalker was That Girl. That's why her presence was "benign and benevolent". She was working to turn my head in her direction and acknowledge her so that I would have the correct tool to do my best to honor and acknowledge my mother. Mission accomplished, That Girl. Thank you for your insistence. No need for me to check with the experts. Message received and currently being implemented. Over and onward.
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 12:17   email  this post