After our encounter with the geriatric shrink, I had somewhat of the upper hand. Fran realized that I now knew what she had been trying to hide.
I was face to face daily with her erratic behavior and desperately trying to control her anger. It was an endless battle, and I was not handling it well.
Fran would demand I take her shopping and continue to create a hostile environment whenever I stepped foot in her apartment. I was harassing her, and nothing I ever said would change her attitude.
I was her enemy, but she needed me to take her wherever she wanted to go, and it almost always ended in a verbal confrontation. She consistently raged about people stealing her jewelry. I would find it hidden, and she would accuse me of “planting it.”
She was convinced that I was intentionally trying to make her “crazy” by taking her things and then suddenly finding them.
It was a never-ending confrontation, and I rarely could control my anger. How dare she accuse me of unspeakable actions, and my outbursts became as toxic as her accusations.
I knew I was losing the battle, and no one could rescue me from the wrath of Fran. I was exhausted, frustrated, and angry.
It all came to a head when I awoke to my phone ringing at 5 a.m. in the morning. As I said hello, I heard Fran screeching at the top of her lungs. I could not fully understand her, but I knew all hell was about to break loose.
I listened as I tried to pull on some sweats and get in my car. She was letting me know she had to leave her apartment because the “ghosts” had kept her up all night.
They were sleeping in her living room, lying in her bed, and the children were in the kitchen. She calmly explained that she gave the kids cookies, but they would not leave. The ghosts had taken over her apartment, and she had to leave.
Fortunately, I was able to drive there in minutes and catch her as she was leaving the front entrance. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, yet her eyes were wild-looking, darting back and forth.
I convinced her to go back inside and up to her apartment so I could meet the ghosts and convince them to leave. As we entered her apartment, she immediately announced they were still there.
I made the mistake of saying I could not see them, which agitated Fran further. She flew into a rage and began rummaging through her walker compartment below the seat, which was filled with papers and a picture of her mother.
She honed in on the picture and asked me who I thought it was. Without hesitation, I said it was her Mom, and she laughed like she was auditioning for a horror movie.
I was scared because she had clearly detached from reality, and I needed to get her to the hospital. We spoke for a period of time, mostly her yelling that between me and the ghosts, we had driven her to the edge to take her money.
It was always about money; every argument concluded with her money and my desire to drive her crazy to get it all. How I managed to stay calm is a mystery, but I instinctively knew this episode was going to change things for good.
I finally talked her into going to the hospital to get some rest and tell the doctor about the ghosts.
The drive was awful; she was screaming the entire way that water was coming in, asking why my car was flying. She screamed for the entire trip that I was headed into the ocean, and we would drown.
She would tell the “kid” who was singing in the back seat to be quiet. She would ask me to tell him to stop, and while I tried to convince her no one was there, she only got more agitated.
I was so frightened during the drive that I think I broke every law getting to the hospital. I sped through red lights and, no question, exceeded the speed limit….a lot. I rationalized that I would take my chances with the cops.
By the time we entered the ER, Fran was asking where she was and speaking total nonsense. As we were asked to go through security, Fran was having no part of giving up her purse and began getting irritated as they attempted to put her in a wheelchair.
Before I knew what was happening, 4 security guards were surrounding her and forcibly trying to put her in the wheelchair.
I begged her to stop fighting, but as the words came out, she took a swing at the guard. As another approached again, she took another swing, almost landing the punch.
It immediately got ugly with Fran screaming they were hurting her, and me sobbing like a toddler taken from its mother. The entire ER area was full and eerily quiet as they shuffled Fran to a private room.
Once in the room, Fran was still hallucinating and screaming that water was coming in the walls and the “kid” in the corner would not stop singing and humming.
It took several attempts to get anyone in the ER to see her and ask what was going on. Only when Fran got so loud and disruptive in the private room did a nurse intercede.
I explained what had been going on and reiterated that she was there several times months earlier for the same issues.
It was a rinse and repeat of our last visit. I was to leave the room as her blood pressure was too high, and they feared she would stroke out. I was the problem, not the one seeking a resolution!
I left, but Fran continued to hallucinate, and since the ER was full (6:00 a.m.), it was okay for me to sit with her after they gave her a mild sedative.
Mom was still irritated, but now because she wanted the doctor to come so she could go home. She was calming down but still seeing and hearing ghosts.
Finally, a doctor came in to see her; ironically, it was a doctor I had encountered in the hallway as I was trying to find someone to take Fran to the bathroom.
I asked him to help; his exact response was “it was above my pay grade,” but he would find someone. Very funny and totally unhelpful as he simply walked away.
Imagine having that jerk walk into the room and announce he was the doctor, in fact, the head of the psych unit. He started the conversation with a question of why anyone would allow this woman to live independently.
I was angry at his indifference and his judge-a-book-by-its-cover look he gave me. Give me a break, I launched into action at 5:00 a.m. and did not comb my hair or brush my teeth. Excuse me!
I explained it was a deal I made with her as a condition of her moving to Michigan. I also explained she was hard of hearing, so he needed to speak up. He continued in his monotone, bored voice and was frustrated she did not respond.
She was busy telling the ghosts to leave and begging me to get out of the water I was apparently standing in. He immediately decided she must have an infection, despite me assuring him she did not.
It escalated into me insisting that he listen to what I had to say before I finally said the magic words….I want a petition. He stopped and instantly knew I had the upper hand.
As her Power of Attorney, I had the ability to demand the hospital file a petition on her behalf. While I don’t understand all the legalities, I knew they had to react and could not simply send her home again.
He made it clear that I did not want to do that, better to send her home and move down the road. I refused and demanded they keep her as she was clearly a danger to herself and others.
I had learned a few things since my last experience in the ER, and in that moment, I knew I had finally found the help Fran needed and I begged for.
I was somewhat pleased that I had somehow outsmarted the all-powerful doctor who refused to listen. It’s an art to sit and listen, a skillset he clearly lacked.
Fran spent 5 days in a private room in the psychiatric ward. I visited every day and noticed a calmness that I don’t think I ever saw in my mother. She was pleasant and present. She wanted to go home.
We discussed every day what our options were as I explained she needed more care and I would have to move her….again.
She was compliant and interested in what her new home would look like.
I finally chose a facility that seemed to fit our needs, and I moved her in after I had her released. It was a tough few weeks but one of the best decisions I ever made.
Next up: While the Book of Fran is closing, stay tuned for anecdotal things I have learned and experienced in this journey. I hope to help others not make mistakes I made, yet forgive yourself for ones you do make…..it’s a long journey and it gets bumpy.