The Sound of Silence.

It has been an extremely long and hard week. I am pretty beat down and exhausted so I doubt this will be one of those pretty and eloquent posts.

Alzheimer’s is fucking hard. Even on a good day it is hard. On a bad day it is soul-sucking.

GM had a relatively “normal” Tuesday. She had no memory of spending all of Monday in the hospital, no memory of the things that brought us there, and no realization that she needed to take it easy. But I was actually happy that she was doing so well. I mean who wants to remember hours and hours and hours of hospital hell? So Tuesday was calm, maybe even mellow.

Wednesday things started to shift.

By Thursday it was bad.

And this is the stuff that is hard for me to write about. I mean who wants to document and put up for the world to see horrible things that their Grandmother did or said? Who wants to relive it as she struggles to find the right word that would convey just how awful and mean and tense things were. Not me. I just can’t.

Yesterday was just shit.

And I know that her violent mood shift was totally connected to the chaos that was her Monday. I know that when she acts this way that it is not personal (even when that is how it manifests).I know that it is just her mind trying to claim some sort of control over a body that is no longer always connected to the mind.  I know that when things are at their worst she is absolutely not culpable. And I grapple with all of this as I try to not cry or retreat or talk back. I try to go emotionally limp and push the Granddaughter part of me away and just focus on being a good caregiver. But I kind of suck at that. I always cry.

I think it is especially hard for me right now because I am just one big blob of emotions. I fucking cry at everything. Even the idea of sad things makes me cry. So being in a situation that is actually 100% authentic, real-life sad just about destroys my foothold on sanity.

On top of care-taking during a rough week I also have that looming fear that will always, always, always follow around an infertile. Always. It is the fear that the really horrible stuff is right around the corner. I fear that the Snork was just some mind trick, that it is a twisted and belated April Fool’s. When I find myself doing things like dealing with my insurance (which is a very large post that may or may not be written for public consumption) or scheduling an appointment for for an OB I feel like someone will stand up and call me a liar. The fact that I have an OB appointment next Wednesday just blows my fucking mind.

When does the bliss come in? I think I am just still in shock about it all…

And as I deal with all of these conflicting emotions- the stuff from GM- the feeling like a fraud- the nonstop weeping and peeing- I find that I retreat. I tuck away and hide myself with like this blanket of shame. Even sharing all of this now makes me feel a bit raw and uncomfortable. Like I should just buck up and deal. But dealing, as I am finding out, is hard.