Since the other day with the change of colour of one of her meds she has become more and more determined to do things her way. Refusing to take the yellow pill now, so I have changed it with the few remaining ones of the other colour until I can see the GP about it, and now eating less and less.
Needless to say it is frustrating as hell to sit back and watch someone slowly starve themselves, as well as have such a low intake of fluids.
To me, another stay in hospital is on the cards, but if course she can refuse that too.
She said in short to my sister today that she is fed up of it all now and just wants to give up. Which is fine if that's what she really wants. But there is a right and wrong way to do it, and right now, it's the wrong way of doing it.
On top of all this, her interest towards her sleeping tablets is a worry too. Complaining that I won't let her keep the entire pack of 28 in her room. My reasoning to her for this is the kids. All she has to do is drop one, or the pack, and one of the little ones could be enticed by their pretty blue colour and down some.
Obviously I have a dual agenda, and my other concern is, with no one about, on a bad night she could decide to take more than she should. For obvious reasons I want to minimise this risk.
One way or the other I am going to have to speak to the GP and the hospice in the morning and try and get some advice and some hands on help with all this, as it is rapidly becoming more than I can deal with.
I can't imagine how it feels to be going down hill, knowing you are terminally ill, and at any time there may be a droip off point. But at the same time I can't imagine not trying everything possible to stay on to of my game too. Maybe its because I am not in that position, maybe we have different mindsets or something, but I can't figure it out.
There have been numerous "false alarms" along the way with her getting ill over something totally unrelated, and we go to the hospital, she stays in, gets hydrated and comes home much better. But this time the train of thought is on another route. Fighting help, refusing to discuss, and turning away almost anything offered to make life a little easier.
Needless to say, that just makes my life harder. I know, I know, poor me, but I'm not the one dying right. Nope, you are of course right. Instead I'm the one feeling shitty about being off work for so long, wondering what is being said about me, on medication so I can think straight and life a "normal" life, and be there for my mum while she wastes away right under my nose. What would I know, right!
Ok rant over. Here's to hoping that I can get some help from the GP and hospice with this tomorrow.
Tomorrow, my 38th birthday, and 3 years to the day that I ran around like a crazy man trying to get a doctor to see my mum who had just admitted to me she thought she had breast cancer.
Birthdays are great eh!
Tense times ahead I fear, but time will tell.
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