nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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The women in my life

It's been an interesting weekend.
My Grams looks like someone beat the hell out of her. She decided, at some point in the night over the weekend, that she needed to use the bathroom and attempted to take herself there. Because of her broken hip (which never had surgery and never healed completely) she is unable to walk more than a step or two and promptly fell face first into something. No one seems to know what she hit on the way down but she hit something. Grams' face is incredibly swollen and they think she broke the orbital bone surrounding her eye. She's all bruised and literally looks like my mother used to after a weekend throwdown with my stepfather. The bad part? Four hours after Grams first decided to try for the bathroom, she did it again. Back on her face and this time they took her to the E.R. because they were pretty sure she'd broken her cheekbone/nose as well.
My poor Grams. They've put a motion sensor in her room, one that goes off with the slightest movement. The nurses are really pissed about having it, but I can't honestly say I care a wit. If it's what she needs, so be it.
My mother had yet another breakdown this weekend. Apparently she was to attend a wedding on Saturday but her s.o. decided to go out the night before and tie one on until 3am then refused to get up. She was pissed (rightfully) and called me. However, by the time she called me, my mother was hysterical and wanting to do nothing more than go to sleep forever. Her words, not mine. She was planning on taking a bunch of pills, something she's done before. The difference between then and now is that there isn't anyone else to stop her or handle the situation but me. My great-grandmother dealt with it until her death in 1993. My grandmother dealt with it until her death. I've heard it all before, have handled her in degrees in the past but it's never been just me. Just. Me. There's something rather scary in knowing that I'm what stands between my mother and a bottle of pills and eternal sleep.
I managed to calm her down, reminding her over and over and over that if she did what she was thinking of doing, my sister would most likely be the one to find her. Thankfully, that seemed to get through to my mother.
She was fine today, sounded right as rain and blew me off for worrying.
Go figure.
Her instability throws me. What if that's what I have to look forward to? On one hand, I fully know that my mother has been half loony most of her life. She's had spurts of time where she's been in a mental ward. I firmly believe that bipolar disorder has been a fixture in her life. On the other hand, I worry that maybe it's just taking it's time getting to me. And what if it never does, but skips me and hits my sons? I hate even the idea of that. Hate it.
At any rate, as I said before, it's been an interesting weekend.
Two such different women, both fighting against something that's completely taken over their lives. Both tricked by their own minds, both fighting their own sets of demons. Both so strong in such completely different ways.
I love them both.
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Happy Sunday.
N.

9:36 p.m. - 2005-11-13

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