My mother is making a remarkable recovery. She’s slowly getting back to her feisty self and has absolutely no problem telling me what I can do and where I can stick her breathing and stretching exercises.
She’s doing so well, in fact, that over the weekend my role here experienced a... shift.
Sometime Sunday afternoon, after the boyfriend left, the tables turned and the scales tipped and I suddenly became... “the help”.
I was rounding the corner from the hall when I unexpectedly ran into my mother, shuffling unassisted for the first time from her recliner to the bathroom.
"Do you need any help?" I asked as she approached.
"No dear, I'm fine" she said as she grabbed my hand and patted my wrist. "You don't need to help me."
I was happy to see her getting her independence back, but then she added...
"But you really need to get caught up on the laundry."
I was a little stunned.
I watched as she toddled down the hall and just before she disappeared into their bedroom she called back "and the living room is looking a little dusty too."
So now, in addition to my regular nursely duties and cooking, we've added light to moderate housework. If they didn't have a gardener, I'm sure that would be on the list too.
Yesterday was particularly bad because I had actually picked up a small job and had stupidly assumed I might have a free hour to actually work on it. But every time I sat down at the computer, I was politely reminded that the whites needed to be folded or the dishwasher emptied.
"When was the last time you watered the houseplants" she asked.
Um... never.
"Have you vacuumed yet today?"
At one point she subtly hinted that the silver hadn't been polished in ages.
By 6pm, I was close to cracking. I hadn't even had 10 minutes to take a shower that day.
I thought about slitting my wrists, but all the knives in the house are dull. I'll have to add that to the list... "sharpen knives". It wouldn't have done any good even if they were sharp. With my mother's superior medical knowledge, she would undoubtedly know how to save me and then I'd find myself alive with no hands.
I was really, truly at the end of my rope. I excused myself and went to my room to try and collect myself.
I sat in the dark and reflected on all the things my parents have done for me throughout the years.
I reflected on how happy I was to still have my mother here.
I reflected on how much help I have been to them over the past two weeks, which I know they appreciate.
And I reflected on my mother's prescription for Vicodin.
Either her primary physician is careless, or he knows her all too well, because he called in a year's worth of pills. She's never going to miss the few, maybe more, that I'll need to get through the next week. And trust me, they work.
So that's how long I'm staying. Tuesday is my last day here, because I managed to get a job interview the following day in Bako.
I've got my work cut out for me for the next week. Maybe I should go ahead and call in a refill.
