On the Brink

Still waiting for a light at the end of the tunnel. We were told today that if mum doesn't start taking the medication she may have to be hospitalised, willingly or otherwise. Mum is raging. She was up in the flat when the social services lady came over to try and sweet talk her into taking the tablet. Her friend Sara was there at the time to take her to a long awaited hair appointment. Social services vetoed it, as mum is too unpredictable at the moment. The rest of the day went like a game of cat and mouse. The house doctor goes looking for her upstairs, but she is down, sitting with dad, ranting. She turns up at the surgery, no result. Lea leaves her work in the middle of the day to help. Nothing. I threw around an idea: let dad leave the support clinic (he is so much better, he doesn't need the walker anymore, we had a lovely walk albeit at a slow pace using a cane, and really than for his shower he doesn't seem to need much help) and go back to the flat. Let them be together. Mum had her life pattern broken by this lengthy separation and this may be the cause for her acute state. Dad could get some help from the house, perhaps someone to come daily to help him shower (after I've gone back to London), Lea will make sure there's always fresh wholesome food in the flat, couldn't it help put the situation in control? Prof. Adonsky, clearly impatient on the phone, still tells me: "I think this is a good idea. I hadn't thought of it. Talk to the house doctor. If he calls me I will support your idea". The house doctor is strongly against it. He tells me: "If Prof. Adonski calls me I will discuss it with him". I am left frustrated.
In the late afternoon, after mum has been to every part of the building, and freaked out all in sight with her paranoic drivel, she is coerced into promising the doc she would take the tab. She doesn't. She then promises to take it, but in her own flat, not in surgery. Lea, mum, doc and I go upstairs. Mum, as expected starts to beat about the bush, avoiding the tab. The doc finally loses his patience and walks out. He then returns. "Let me see the sleeping pills you have". Mum (after a suitabley infuriating procrastination) shows him. He doesn't take them away, indeed he tells her that she can still go on using them at night. He leaves again. Lea tries to explain to mum that she has to take the tablet (left on the table by the doc). She hands the tiny cup containing it to mum. Mum takes it, waves it around as she gesticulates while going on about how everybody is now against her, the usual stuff, then places it back on the table. After an hour she starts to crack. She has managed meanwhile to briefly break down and sob, for the first time since I've been here, as far as I know. She finally pops the tab in her mouth, swigs from the water bottle she's been clutching all along (she won't take a cup of water from the cooler from anybody lest it is spiked). We almost collapse with exhaustion. I call dad in his room. "Dad, just to let you know, mum has taken the tab". He calls back after a minute or so. "Tell your mother I am sending her kisses". Mum says: "I know you are trying to kill me".
I ask Lea to stay for a very late lunch. I have now taken to heating all food while mum is around, so that she eats without fear I am "in it together with the rest of them". Everything is yesterday's leftovers, so it only need reheating, and soon we sit around the table, while the lettuce, apple and carrot soup, the beef stew, the basmati rice and the braised red cabbage are all dished up, and gobbled up, while my mum's conversation does not stop at any point. Later she seems to have fallen into deep sleep. Is it the tab? Or maybe she's tired, having slept badly the night before, and after a riotous day like today? Anyway, at around 7 pm the internal phone rings. It's dad. "Isn't mum up yet? I would like to see her". I call for her, then look in her room. She's gone. I go to the front door. It is just a crack ajar. Mum has sneaked out while I was on the computer, with my door wide open (and facing the front door), and so as not to make a sound she didn't close it behind her! I call dad back. He says: "Yes, I know. She's already here, bothering the clinic staff". I rush downstairs and find her pouring her heart out to one of the cleaners. I gently coax her to sit down at one of the dining room tables. She is full on. Ranting and raving, and I dispair. I talk to her, well, listen to her. The staff give us a wide berth. She says: "You must be pleased. They all think I'm crazy". I say "mum, I don't care what anybody think. I only care about you". No idea if any of this sinks in. I doubt it. Dad appears from around the hallway, with his walker, clearly not to upset her, as she refuses to accept that he is better and walks almost freely now. "We can sit in my room and talk" he pleads. "They've turned you against me too", she says. Dad says he will not sit and chat here. "You know where I am" he says and shuffles back.
She relents after the usual long pause when I try to reason with her we could just as well be sitting with dad in his room. Once there, I let them have their space and go back to the flat. Around 8:30 I return. Strange: mum is rather quiet and almost reasonable. Dad seems better too. Oh, well. Around 9 I help dad into his bed (he hardly needs my help, he is that much better), kiss him goodnight, let my mum take her leave and we silently (yes, silently) make our way back to the flat. I dish up some salads, I make mum a fried egg, we eat our light supper with little or no conversation. I find that she tends to spoil for a fight, so I only speak to her if absolutely necessary. Still, it all feels close to normality as we go over the shopping list for tomorrow. My worry now is: will she be as difficult tomorrow as she has been today. You see, she will have to go on taking that tablet daily, in a controlled environment (i.e. in front of health staff), for a long period, probably indefinitely. The effects would be noticable after several days, so she is likely to remain as disturbed as she is now for a while, and then there is the question of the drug having the desired effect, and minimal side-effects. There is no other way of knowing whether it is actually helpful or not.