“I know you’re going to do what you want to do. But I worry about Mom’s health and yours. I fear we’re going to be in the same boat we were 6 months ago. I just want you to know that.”
“I don’t want to talk about that just yet.”
I told my Dad how I felt, and I left it at that. I knew he was bringing her home from the nursing home. But I wanted him to know how I felt.
She’s home now. My mom has chronic Lyme Disease. It’s a nasty, vicious disease that simulates various symptoms of MS. The CDC is unwilling to acknowledge it nor identify it as a legitimate disease. This translates to: no funding for a cure, treatment, nor management of symptoms.
What does this mean for Mom? A slow deterioration of her nervous system. The inability to walk. The inability to move her hands. Some brain deficiencies. And it only gets worse and worse.
Mom’s been sick since I was five. To say one gets used to it is not hitting it directly. I’ve only known her as a sick person. When I was five, playing with Barbies and watching cartoons, she was lying on the couch with a nurse inserting IVs into her arm. I watched her lose the muscle control of the left side of her face. It was scary. I was sad for her.
Now we’re on the path that leads to nowhere. Day-to-day, Dad uses mechanical contraptions to help her go to the bathroom, to help her get in bed, to help her live a life. I help, but feel helpless.
There’s no happy ending to this story. She will eventually become a paraplegic. It’s just going to be hard times ahead. On good days I find hope in the belief that God gave me struggles to become a better person.
On bad days, I just don’t feel anything at all.