Being a Caregiver to a Mentally Ill Mother

https://steemitimages.com/DQmVcgNbkCoRYbsaxJELToKN3gvGKUuoMJgNvgrYgKtv4AE/17264411_1273005679413202_7316967096831048477_n.jpg

My mother had a mental relapse Wednesday. She's had two in less than two years. I was not as surprised as I thought I would be, but my heart felt devastated. About a month ago I had her visit me for three weeks. I had this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could not shake it off. Something intuitively within me questioned whether this would be the last normal time I would have with her. Normal as in her mentally stable. I didn't feel confident about that possibility. I was afraid of her derailing from stability.

During her first mental lapse I was able to be her caregiver for about 6 months. I would cook and clean for her, schedule her appointments to the psychiatrist, fight with insurances when sorting out getting copies of her CT scans, take her to appointments, and so on. It was rough, and it was not a fun period in my life. I started balding from the top of my head and my hair thinned out from stress. The moment I needed some support from friends was the instant I became invisible.

No one knew how to approach me when it came to be talking about mental health, my mother, or how was I doing. It was pretty disheartening seeing "close friends" just filter out what I was living through and dismissed my need for normal. In the mist of being a caregiver my friends forgot that I was still human. I was perfectly okay with an ice cream day talking about the insignificant musings of our day to day life. To say the least: a lot of my "friends" decided to only give me "I'm sorry you're going through that, ...." then shut the topic off by avoiding me completely.

Instead of giving me company they threw little pity emoji hearts on my status updates. I made those updates to keep my mom's family updated. With social media it is easier to communicate to everyone at once when you have relatives in another country. Seeing their fake digital support; after me asking if they had time in their schedule to put me down for a cup of coffee, and being told they didn't have time was gross. I ended up unfriending a lot of people. Some which I no longer talk to today due to irreconcilable differences.

I couldn't be my mother's caregiver any longer due to the physical toll it was taking on me. By the 7th almost going on to the 8th month I had to stop. Not just that but I had recently gotten married. I was about to move out of town and live 100 miles away. At that point my father had to pick up the role while juggling being the only one working. He wasn't well suited for it. He lacked the strictness in holding consistency and not letting my mother get it her way when it came to: appointments, her not taking her psychotropic drugs, eating, and coaching her to delete that negative mental health stigma she had about herself.

I was able to emotionally support and coach him on how to be a caregiver, manage appointments, and a proper medicine routine and diet for a while through calls, but he lacked the effort to give it his all. I don't blame him. My mother mentally unstable is mean. She throws things at you, yells at you, threatens you, and then deals with her schizophrenia out loud. All this batter up and make a mental fog in your own perspective of life. When someone has a mental illness in the family everyone suffers when they're not stable.

What was it like taking care of my mentally ill mother?

It was near the end of Summer in 2016. I had gotten married in July, but my husband had flown to the East Coast to finish his military occupational school training for the United States Marine Corps. I had been juggling a part time editing job for a grass roots poetry magazine, going to school by doing rapid 8-week courses, and hosting an open-mic at my local bookstore once a month. I was keeping busy. My husband was gone, and it helped pass the time by pounding away at activities. I knew after my husband would come back: we'd be living together in his first duty station in privatized military housing on base. I was working on my editing job pushing through reading poetry submissions before a deadline. I got interrupted from my pace when my father called me. He had told me that my mother wasn't feeling good. He asked if I could visit her to check up on her. If she was feeling terrible he asked if I could take her to the hospital.

I had a challenge I still haven't overcome. Thankfully to the innovating advancement in technology and apps (mostly human kindness) I am aided in passing that challenge. You see, I don't know how to drive. I have successfully gotten my driving permit but not having immediate family members to help teach me ended in it expiring. Also, the fact that at the time my permit was in effect I couldn't afford driving school. I was back to bus commutes and requesting Uber rides. I requested an Uber and went home. I found my mom in a distraught mess. She had difficulty breathing, was dizzy, and was in a sheer state of disorientation. I had called another Uber and we took off to the hospital. My family is low income they make less than $12,000 a year. They can't afford a $400 ambulance ride, I can easily take her with Uber for $3.00 - $6.00, and get her there at the same time they would have. Her home is so close to the hospital too.

She had been sick since the previous day. The weight of that sickness she felt didn't reach her until she was in the hospital. Rightfully so, because after she was admitted she was diagnosed to having a seizure. Her brain was having mini seizures the previous day. Now she was going into a thread mess of small ones at the hospital. They were causing her to convulse, feel disoriented, and have slight memory loss. Seeing her after they controlled her attacks, and after when she woke up realizing she was put to sleep with medicinal aid was the worst, because it was the first time I saw my mother in such a state.

My mother looked like a scared baby rat cornered and caught by a trap. She was at a loss, scared, and fearful of every sensation, as well as everyone. This included not only the medical staff but me and my father. Due to the severity of her problem she had to be transferred to another hospital. The hospital she was in did not have a full-time radiology department, neuro-specialist, or a psychiatrist. They took her in an ambulance there and my father and I drove to her.

Things took a turn for the worse my mother was having spurts where she would forget who I was: her daughter.

https://steemitimages.com/DQmWQwi1ftmxvVLHWPZpy5EX1jRFzvdPxWTa6tQJdMFW8zm/11148527_832209643492810_3222207924009808401_o.jpg

I was sleeping under her feet on her hospital bed. I'm small enough to fit in that small crevice of space. Suddenly, my mom woke up. I heard her gasping and then mumbling in terror. She didn't know who I was. She pushed the panic button to get a nurse’s aide. She then kicked me off the bed. She proceeded to get up with her IV fluids still attached to her, shoved me away, and asked "Who are you? What are you doing here? Get away from me. Nurse!" She then in complete fear walked down the hallway asking for help. The nurses came and were confused at my mom's outbreak of questioning; what I the "intruder" was doing sleeping under her feet. The nurse knew I was the daughter. He quickly noticed something was wrong. I had to be separated from my mother for a bit until she calmed down and was able to recollect her memory. Thankfully she did.

I felt like garbage. It was one thing seeing my mom this ill but another thing living through her not knowing who I was. It was a backhand and an insult to me. It really ruined my balance. I wanted to be close enough to watch over her at the hospital, but at the same time there were instances where I couldn't be close, because she would forget who I was. I spent a week at the hospital with her. I was there with her when I was able to and that was when she wouldn't forget me. They would have a spare guest bed for me with a curtain divider between us. That way if she woke up and didn't know who I was again, the curtain gave the appearance that I was just another patient, and I so happened to be sharing a room with her in the hospital. Eventually after a week she was able to get released. She was put on medicine for her heart, brain, and thyroid.

Two days later in the process of picking up her last prescription order at Rite-Aid my mother had another mental relapse. As my dad was helping her get into the car I was getting ready to hop into the passenger seat, my mother suddenly didn't know who my father was (that was a first), or who I was. She pushed him and then started running down the street aimlessly with no caution to the vehicles around her.

I chased after her and in the process of grabbing her hand she shoved me. She shoved me so hard I nearly fell onto the pavement. She was about to sprint, so I bear hugged from behind. In that moment she kept elbowing my rib cage as hard as she could. My dad caught up with the car. We put her in the backseat and locked the doors (with the child safety function) so she wouldn't jump out. This was the first time we had to deal with mental illness: the rawness of it. We didn't know what to do.

We continued to Rite-Aid to pick up the prescription because she really needed it. However, on our way there my mom kept a steady mumble of "I need to give the police my wallet. I need to give the police the wallet. At the police station. They need my wallet with my ID, so they can tell me who I am." When we opened the car doors she made a sprint to Rite-Aid. She ended up causing a commotion and telling the employees to call the cops because she didn't know who we were. She said we were persecuting her. I ended up explaining to them she just had a seizure and it was my mom. They nodded and told me to take her to a corner of the store where she wouldn't disturb the other customers. Then they proceeded to tell me they were by policy required to call the cops. I told them that was fine I was going to pick up her prescription in the meantime. The cops came, and they sorted the mess out. It took 45 minutes to calm her down, the ambulance came they took her vitals, she was then asked if she wanted to go in the ambulance to the hospital again, or with us (her husband and daughter). Miraculously she then recalled us again and we drove her back to the hospital.

My mom had to stay in the hospital another three days again. I stayed by her side again under the same circumstances I had mentioned before. I wasn't sick of the hospital food though. They offer a lot of healthy dishes for people to buy. My mother ended up getting a referral to a mental health clinic to begin getting stabilize and diagnosed properly.

Her final diagnosis ended up being late adult schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and clinical depression.

The challenge was getting her stable. Hard wiring a balance in her brain with psychotropic drugs. She was too unstable. Being her caregiver at this point began getting exhausting. I had to quit my semester in school and missed the chances to drop without a W and petition to get the W removed. I didn't care though. My priority was getting my mom into treatment, getting her stable, and putting her on routine medicine for her disorders. During her adapting to these new challenges in her life she would still forget who I was from time to time. In the process of her forgetting who I was she would yell at me to get out of her house, spit her medicine at me, hit me (not significantly hard enough because she's 53 and I was 22), and her schizophrenia would be too much for me to handle.

At times she would threaten to poison my food with bleach, so we could die together. Or she would question whether I was pouring poison in her food. There were instances where she would leave the house while I was sleeping during the night and I would wake up at 6 in the morning to find her gone. I would rush outside to look for her. Walking the streets in panic looking at every corner. Every time she would do this she would be in the same spot. Waiting by sitting down at the local city bus bench. That was only two blocks from her apartment. I would ask what was she doing and she would always reply, "I'm waiting for my family. I'm waiting for Raul, Gabriel (her son, my half-brother), Raquel (me), Joshua and Rebecca (her grandkids)." Each time I would have to tell her that I was here. It would take 20-30 minutes of pleading to get her back into her house. I was tired. I was put in a complicated situation. I'm the youngest child. While my half-brother is almost 11 years older than me. The youngest taking care of her mother while he just didn't care. I was starting to feel resentful, angry, and upset. I didn't have time to be getting the short end of the stick.

The past crept up: I couldn't do this caregiver routine anymore. I wanted to move on in my life. I wanted to be happy.

At the age of 18 I saw my half-brother physically punch my mom, pull on her hair, and slam her head against the wall. I had made a comment that hurt his ego. My mom got in the way, so he wouldn't easily lunge his fist at me. He had never hurt me before. He had always tried. Hiding behind locked doors always saved me. This time in a hallway I didn't have much room for resistance. I reacted quickly as his fists were flying in the air nearing my face. I took out my mace and I maced him with pepper spray. I maced him until he stopped.

My nephew was outside in the yard playing with his ball. My niece was far away in her room with her door closed. My half-brother wouldn't let go of my mother's hair while he attempted to punch me. So, I did what I had to do to defend myself then called 9-1-1. A whole mess ensued. Her son tried blaming me and lied saying I was trying to mace his kids.

Long story short: the officers believed me. I had just graduated high school as valedictorian and I explained to them the argument. After talking to my half-brother, they realized this guy was twisted. He was nuts he openly expressed hatred, jealousy, and annoyance towards my entire existence.

They had been called before. When I was 17 he was high off weed, cocaine, and drunk he tried cutting/stabbing me with a box cutter. I had to lock myself in my room he stabbed at the door. I pushed the bed against the door and started tying my bed sheets together to be able to climb down my second-floor window. Pretty messed up right? I managed to run across the street to a local Jack in The Box and call the police for help. The ultimate order that had to be pushed by the police was: who gets to stay in the house because it is obvious my half-brother and me can’t live together. It had to be decided right away. One of us had to leave that same day if not my niece and nephew would be removed from our home.

My mom decided to choose my half-brother and my niece and nephew. Her logic was that it is easier to place a single female in another living situation than a family with kids. It broke my heart. I cried. I was disregarded. They didn’t help me find a new living situation. My husband’s family ended up taking me in. For awhile I was homeless though. My parents mainly my dad didn’t start helping me until four months later, after I had been kicked out, and he would give me $150 per month. This I would give to my husband’s family for rent to pitch in for the gas, electricity, and water I used.

No One Wanted to Be Responsible During Her First Relapse.

https://steemitimages.com/DQmQjzTvFonmQSUCBy49ndz2A6jXK89uH3GUDMkM6gKbWKU/11262227_834606499919791_7778933423080799502_o.jpg

I was beating a dead horse and I could not do as much as I could. I haven’t lived with my parents since I was 18. My half-brother still lives with them with his girlfriend, my nephew, and niece. When my mom got mentally sick his baby momma started attacking my mom: physically locking her in her room, taking food away from her fridge so she had nothing to make, and openly calling my mother crazy and laughing. This was during her first relapse. I was pissed so I told my dad ... "my mom has human rights especially now that she is in a mental health clinic, tell her to stop picking on my mom, because if she doesn’t she can go to jail for abuse. If you don’t say anything to her I will tell the mental health clinic." I told the mental health clinic she got a warning from then on, she stopped. The problem was I was moving. I pushed and stayed as a support through out her clinic treatment. I had to give notice to them I was about to move in a week. My mom was stable enough to sign herself out of her treatment plan from the mental health clinic. So legally they had to let her go.

Here we are present day: my mom had a mental health crisis relapse again.

I'm 115 miles away from her and my father. I can't physically be there at the moment to help out because I have my own health appointments to follow up on. I have to take care of myself right now. I'm trying to see if I can get the power of attorney for my mom. I want to put her on mental disorder disability as she is seen and on medicine for schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and clinical depression. I'm trying to square all of that away but my dad isn't being too helpful. He's lazy, he lags, and he is not responsible. She was issued Seroquel a count of 30 days until she can see her psychiatrist and begin treatment again last week Wednesday but my dad didn't pick it up until Sunday. Which is yesterday, because he was lazy.

It's so frustrating. Also Saturday was disheartening, my father drove 110 miles because my mom wanted to see me, and my mom came to see me and she gave me a Rosca to celebrate "Dia De Los Reyes" which was 1/6/17. She met up with me only to want to leave right away. I only saw her for 5 minutes. She hugged me and shook my hand over and over then said bye. My dad and her drove back to Los Angeles from Oceanside. Yesterday she called me at 8:10 P.M. very confused. Sunday was her first day of medicine routine again. She openly expressed to me how she thought it was Tuesday morning. She and my father were on a late night walk but her in her mind really thought it was morning, Tuesday, and 8:10 A.M. despite the darkness. On the phone she was so off. Then she asked me when am I going to come see her or when can she see me. I had told her we just saw each other Saturday briefly. She then panicked, broke down, and denied it. She repeated over and over that no we didn't see each other Saturday. I haven't seen you at all. I haven't seen you in three weeks. I didn't see you. Which in turn ended up hurting me. She then hung up on me after calling me a betraying liar.

Do any of you know how to deal with this? Have any of you experienced anything similar with your family members? What tips do you suggest?

At this point, I could use any support in comments. Have you experienced any family member with schizophrenia? Bipolar disorder? Clinical depression? How do you still keep a relationship with them? What are things you have learned along the way to make you have a healthy mental balance while loving a mentally ill loved one? How do you encourage your loved one or even yourself to stay on medicine routines?

Other Mental Health Articles I've Written:

Battling Depression During High School: What Helps Overcome It?

Thank you for your upvotes, comments, tips, support, and for reading. I appreciate you.