What!?! Summer is over? I just got around to shaving my legs! Not that hairy legs stopped me from going to the local public pool. Sorry about that. Hope it didn’t gross you out. I figured since there’s plenty to be skeeved out about there, I’d fit right in with the floating hairballs, used band-aids and snakes of phlegm surfing the waves. Back to summer though. As much as I hate to see it go, I adore Fall when it appears. But know this about me. I fall in and out of love easily. I get these crushes, see? I bet I’d get a crush on you if I ever met you. You’re perfect for me in every way. You don’t turn away from me when I’m talking to (or writing to) you and you give me the space I need. You don’t leave your shit everywhere and your breath is as fresh as the air in the room I’m in right now. You could work a little on your conversation but that’ll come later. I like silence. I do. But wait, do you like me? Look at this. 3=> That’s what I look like naked when I’m lying on my side. Hot, huh?
That was a lot of fun. Guess what’s not going to be fun? The rest of this column. Yep. Summer’s over. Fall is the universal season of decay. I need to be seasonally appropriate. We had a great time but it just wasn’t meant to last.
So. I have this one relative that is absolutely birdshit crazypants. And how her insanity manifests is by saying the absolute rudest and most inappropriate things every time she opens her birdshit crazypants mouth hole. If you were standing in your wedding dress about to go down the aisle and she passed you on her way to the bathroom she would say. “Ohhhh. Are you allergic to lobster? My face gets puffy like that when I eat shellfish. That reminds me, I was wondering if the man you’re marrying has Oriental blood in him. His eyes look Oriental. But his last name is Wang. Isn’t that a German name? Is he a Nazi? He looks like a Nazi-Oriental to me.”
This is only an example. And it’s watered down at that. I wish I could give you an actual transcript but I’m saving it for my book: Can You Believe Someone Actually Said This? I really could regale you for a solid week with her nuttiest chestnuts. But, believe it or not, I get paid to write this column and I’m supposed to tell you how to live your life, not complain about my relatives. So, here. I’m going to tell you how I learned to deal with her.
After about 10 years of her remarks leaving my jaw unhinged and my mind racing around in its attic trying to find some response, any response besides the instinctual WHHHHHAAAAA?, I stumbled upon a strategy. Now when she drops a conversational bomb on a crowd big or small, I pretend she’s dying of a terminal illness but doesn’t yet know it. The scenario is detailed: I was in the lab the night before when the results came in. The physician on duty had never seen anything like it. The prognosis is catastrophic. She only has two days to live. We decide to let her primary physician break the news to her but he’s at his granddaughter’s piano recital so he’s going to call her in the next day. This is the next day. While she’s talking to me, I can hear her phone ring in her purse but the ringer is on low — only I can hear it. It’s just so sad. Only 48 hours!! The doctor was contemplating not even telling her. But that’s him, on her cell phone, calling to deliver the news.
Ring ring. That’s what I pretend to hear under everything she says. Ring ring. Ring ring. The imaginary sound cue fills me with patience and compassion and allows me to respond to one of her doosies not with, “SHUT YOUR FACE!” but with something akin to, “How’s your car running?” (This is very safe territory. She has a Ford. It is always running well. This is not a paid advertisement from Ford.) Usually she’ll say “Fine,” and then go into another room wondering how it’s possible that I could be so very dull as to ask about her car. This is a very successful interaction with her.
Now, we all have a terminal condition. (Pssssst. We’re all going to die. Even you, reading this at the gym while you’re elliptical-ing.) But being in close proximity to someone struggling with real health issues can affect our behavior. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Which brings me to my first and only letter.
Dear Hypocrite.
I love you. I think you’re the greatest free-of-charge hypocritical life coach there ever was. I wish you had a TV show. Not that I watch TV. I mean, I watch HBO and Mad Men, but that’s not TV.
I’m writing to you for help. My mom is sick. Two years ago she got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Her decline has been swift. Fortunately, my older sister lives nearby and has been checking in on her daily. This morning, however, she informed me and my younger brother that my mom needs a higher level of care than she can provide.
I am frozen with fear. All my life I told myself that I don’t know what I’d do if my mom died and now that the reality is closer, I am incapacitated. I’m in a plane that’s going down and all I can do is read the safety card in the pocket in front of me. I hate that I’m like this but I don’t know how to be any other way. My mom means the world to me. Growing up, my dad wasn’t in the picture. My mom had to work two jobs and went to school at night to give us everything we wanted. Plus, she was fun. She’d wear silly hats when she woke us up in the morning. She was just the best. Literally, the best mother you could ever, ever want!
She put me through college and law school. And now, because I’m a partner at a big fancy firm in Midtown, I can afford to get her the best care. But I don’t want to just throw money at this. It’s my mom, I want to be there for her. But like I said, I’m so sad I can barely pick up the phone to ask my sister how she is. I feel terrible. How do I snap out of this?
Depressed and Not Dealing Well on Dean Street
Dear DaNDWoDS,
Whoa. Okay. First things first.
Thank you. I love you too, and I bet you are an amazing lawyer. From your letter, I can tell you have passion and compassion, which is useful in your job. I think. I’m not sure. I have a friend who is a corporate lawyer. He says what he does makes him sick to think about, so he goes on autopilot most of the time. I hope that you aren’t in this situation. You have enough difficult emotions churning inside you to process. Let’s talk about a way to help you face your fears.
But wait, there’s some housekeeping to do. HBO/Mad Men is TV. I grant you that it’s very good television, but that doesn’t mean you can call it something else. I hate asparagus unless it’s broiled in duck fat, but I still have to call it asparagus. Moving on.
For the lawyers: I am not a licensed therapist. You should find one. Ask your friends or your doctor for referrals. You live in Park Slope. Nine out of 10 people you pass on the street are therapists. Just ask the woman next to you in line at the Coop where her office is. Don’t feel like you need to choose the first one you meet with. First up: you should feel safe and not sexually aroused. It’s the opposite of the bar scene. I never follow this rule, but it’s essential.
Now. Let’s really begin. I’m sorry you’re going through this. It’s hard to see a parent hurting. You probably know this but with degenerative brain diseases, your mom can actually live many more years — although the mom you know might not be around much longer. My dad has Parkinson’s. It’s different, but still sucks. He first started showing signs 10 years ago and it’s been a very steady downhill slide since then. I look at pictures of him a decade ago and I can easily see him as my young dad, 40 years prior. But to compare those same photos to how he looks now, the connection is much harder to make. I’d like to tell you everything is going to be fine, but it isn’t. It’s going to be hard. It’s very sad to see someone you love deteriorate in front of your eyes, but there are some things you can do to help yourself and your mom.
I know you feel immobilized but there are still things you can do. You’re a lawyer. You know how to research. Start by researching the beJesus out of the disease — especially the symptoms so you know what to expect. Find out about all of the medications your mom is taking. Meet with her doctors. Interview caregivers. Get into the details of the management of your mom’s illness. This will be a big help to your siblings who might not be able to do what you do as well as you do. Everyone can contribute in his or her own way to keeping your mom comfortable during this time. Work as a team. Oh, and I’m sure you’re on this, but make sure all her finances and documents are in order. That’s really important to do now. Stay organized. I bet you can do that. See? You’re not incapacitated. You’re helping!
When you’re with your mom, meet her where she is. If she’s happy, be excited and give your voice enthusiasm. If she’s solemn, use a lower, more serious tone. And don’t deny her reality. If she’s worried about a deadline for work assignment at a job she hasn’t had in 20 years, tell her that you’ll help her with it. Offer to call her boss and ask for an extension. Address her fears and don’t try to convince her that they are unfounded. And when at a complete loss for words, use eye contact and touch.
You will get frustrated. Remember that it’s not her, it’s the Alzheimer’s that you’re frustrated with. No doubt, this illness will rip your heart out, especially as the mom you know fades from view. Take lots of deep breaths. And for me, a strong gin and tonic every night is extraordinarily helpful. Unless it’s the winter. Then I switch to crank.
And the big thing. The number one big tip is to care for your mom in the way you would want to be cared for. She’s in there. Give her your love. Play music for her, bring her flowers, bring her a dog to pet (don’t leave it there), brush her hair. C’mon. You can do this. Don’t let your fear of her illness keep you from spending time with her. She’s still your mom. The best mom in the world.
Did I lose a couple of you out there? Figured. People don’t like to think about death or illness unless they absolutely have to. I’m sorry you have to at this point, Depressed and Not Dealing Well, but it’s all part of the package. You get to have sex and eat chocolate but you also have to get sick and die. That’s the dealio.
Good luck to you, and give your mom my love.
Until next time …
