MENTAL HEALTH/FAMILIES/
Why I’m Absolutely Fed Up
Of the ineffective and inept bureaucracy of our mental health system.
I hate to admit it, but I’ve completely lost faith in the care my mother has received in the almost four years since I left Calgary.
The doctor, who up until very recently, treated my mother for various health issues. One of which, includes dementia, has left me shaking my head. In truth, (okay my opinion), this particular doctor should have her own head examined; alongside many of the professionals in charge of my mother’s care.
Sidenote: This is in no way discounting the hard work of many doctors, nurses etc who often work long hours in an often dismal setting, who are exceptional and go beyond the call of duty.
I’ve spoken with my mother’s doctor on numerous occasions about several of my concerns. I thought I was very candid and had made my point clear, only to learn, nothing I’d said made one bit of difference.
Not once, not twice or even three times; my mother was seen as fit to make her own decisions.
She tells the doctors, nurses and social workers what they need to hear in order to issue day passes or a discharge from the hospital. She knows how to play “the game”. In fact, she has become rather adept, at least in the short term. Only to end up right back there a short time later.
What professional, in their right mind, lets a patient make choices in areas they have lost considerable credibility in?
Such as living on her own, for example. My mother can no longer manage her finances or remember to take her meds when she should. More often not, my mother just plain refuses to do what is required to take care of herself properly.
Or perhaps, she now lacks the ability without constant supervision.
It is a sad position for her to be in, as she is very determined to be her own boss. But at what cost? She will be on the losing end. Not the doctors or anyone else. She will pay the ultimate price for others’ Devil May Care attitude.
The hospital has, in effect, become her home away home. While this is hardly a long term solution, it has become an ever-revolving door of futility and frustration.
She needs care in a facility equipped to handle her issues, all while giving her a sense of the independence she craves. This isn’t what I had imagined for my mother’s senior years at all, and it saddens me to my core.
My frustration has reached an all-time high, and I’m sad to admit I’ve become resigned to what may be the inevitable outcome. I thought/ hoped we were finally building a relationship we’d missed out on for so many years.
We had our issues, of course, but she understood me in ways no one else did. I miss this innate intuition of hers. She could sense my moods simply by my voice.
I miss going for coffee at Chapters and then browsing the isles of books after. I miss the fact she made my birthday and other occasions extra special.
When I check on her through a mutual friend, I’m torn from hearing her decline. I can tell the last few years has been a hell on earth for him too, yet he remains a steadfast friend, despite her fickle treatment toward him. He’s learned to roll with it as best he can, and I commend him for it. He has a big heart and is loyal to a fault.
It saddens me to see she has essentially given up on herself. She’s on a self-destructive path which leads to a rather bleak end. And with the constant threat of the virus hovering above us, she’s at higher risk than ever before.
No one seems to know how to help her. And I wonder if the staff have indeed grown indifferent? At what point does the same routine become redundant?
I realize there is a protocol the staff are required to follow, but I don’t see the logic behind their decisions. Where is the humanity? My mother is not just a chart to be dealt with. She’s a person, albeit, a very stubborn one.
It’s almost as if there’s a wager on her life expectancy, which is sad and apathetic at best; callous at worst.
I wish I could help her. But how can you help someone who refuses it? In her eyes, I’m telling her what to do or what not do. In her eyes, I’m the enemy. In reality? I’m one of the very few people who love and care about her; who wants her to be safe and cared for.
But we haven’t spoken in almost two years.
I was removed from her contact list at her request. I’m no longer privy to any information about her whatsoever and believe me, I’ve tried.
I feel like I’m waiting for the call. The one I hear she’s gone, and every time the phone rings, I wonder, “Is this it?”.
This has been an ongoing issue throughout the last couple of decades. More than four, to be honest. I spent a good part of my childhood and youth in the care system because of it.
On the flip side, I miss her. A lot. I wish circumstances were different, but here we are; at an impasse. I don’t know how I’ll react when the inevitable happens. Sadness, of course. But guilt and shame that I couldn’t do something? Anything?
It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. At one point, there was discussion of me becoming her guardian, but irony of ironies, my mother had the option of choosing otherwise.
This is what I don’t understand. When someone isn’t able to make sound choices; why are they able to make decisions which will likely prove against their best interest?
It goes against any logic I’m aware of. There needs to be some major changes made in the system, and I hardly know where to start.
It’s been one hell of a journey right from the moment I was born into this unpredictable mess we call life. No one ever said it would be easy, but I need a little reprieve before I either explode or implode.
Whichever way it happens, there will either be little bits of me scattered far and wide; Or just a small pile of ash, formerly known as a quirky gal with deadpan humour who hoarded books up the wazoo.
Also, please pray for my last bits of sanity as we plunge ahead into the new year of remote learning.
God speed and God help us all.
If you made it to the end, I appreciate you taking the time. It means a lot actually.
© Robin Klammer All Rights reserved.
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