V: Can I Whine?

I'm so glad C has been posting fairly regularly lately, because frankly, I just haven't felt like it. She has been encouraging me to write and I've promised to, but I just haven't wanted to share my downer mood. For the past six weeks, I've suffered from chronic hives. I've had them before, but it's been about 5 years since I've had the misery of itching, burning skin resulting in sleepless nights. Believe me, it takes a toll on one's mental health.

I have researched the causes of hives because I have experienced them due to drug and food preservative allergy and one allergist I consulted believes that they are often an autoimmune disorder. I do believe that stress can induce hives in susceptible individuals. One of the articles I came across in my internet research by Shelly M. Brown-Riddle states that: "When the body stressed for too long, it expresses its imbalance as disease." Dr. Christine Bennen, wellweb.com.

So, what's going on in my life to wreak such havoc on my person? Like many of my boomer sisters, I have adult children who are also experiencing major changes in their personal lives. One child experienced a painful divorce which caused emotional upset for my grandchildren. There have been multiple moves, and a remarriage. This adult child also has some health issues and I found her unconscious on the floor in April and had to call 911 and she spent a week in the hospital. Medicines have been adjusted and she is doing much better, but we helped move her family once again last week.

My youngest daughter is expecting a baby in October. She is not married. My husband and I are supportive of her decision to raise her child, and she plans to marry, but circumstances have not been ideal.

Our middle child and only son, is getting married over Labor Day weekend. We love his fiancee and are happily helping them as we are able to plan their wedding. I thought I was handling things fairly well. I really did. I have dear friends who will lend me a sympathetic ear. I don't keep it all to myself. I do talk to them and vent and listen to their wise advice.

For the past year, in the midst of all the domestic turmoil, I've noticed that my mother, who lives two states away near my sister, doesn't remember things I've told her and often seems confused. My sister, who is a registered nurse, calls me often to report on her concern for our mother's well being. Tests have been made, doctors' have been consulted, and the recommendation has been made that it is time for Mother to move to an assisted living center.



It is believed that she is suffering from Alzheimer's Disease and not the dementia that follows the normal aging process. I've seen it coming. Because she sounds much like herself, it's easy to brush off the forgetfulness. But on our visit to her home last Thanksgiving, when I sat in her living room early in the morning, when she awakened and came into the room, she seemed shocked to see me sitting there. I realized that she had forgotten we were there. A year ago Memorial Day weekend, C and her mother and I traveled to visit my mother and sister. Just a few weeks later, my mother did not recall our being there. There are old friends she doesn't remember. And then there have been complaints for two or three years that she doesn't feel right and her head feels strange.

Still, after all these warnings, the official diagnosis hit me like a ton of bricks! I must soon face going through my parent's personal belongings. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. So, I am trying to gather myself back together.

My mother is slipping away before our eyes. It is painful. Possessing a prickly personality, she was never an easy person to live with. Dad, who has been gone for almost 18 years now, was easier to love. That still makes me sad. Much of our home life involved tiptoeing around her moods and hostility. This sweeter, kinder, person seems so different from the person we grew up with. Perhaps that is a gift, because our last memories will be of a gentler nature. My sister and I wrestle with all the decisions that must be made. In our mutual angst considering what is best for her, we both grieve that she is facing such a grim diagnosis, and want her to be as safe and happy as possible. Yeah, I hate it when people whine about their terrible childhoods. My mother was difficult, and our home life wasn't perfect, but my growing up years weren't all that bad in retrospect, and I already miss my mother, thorns and all.