h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

As you may be aware, The Mother was due to have the cataract in her "other eye" operated on this Thursday, so like a dutiful daughter I drove up to the arse end of Kent on the Wednesday, in order to be able to drive her to and from the hospital outpatients the following day, and do the aftercare.

Mistake!!!

The first bit of a glitche was that outside her house, and all along the hill where she lives, there was work on the pavements - they were being dug up and replaced, so I couldn't park outside the familly home as I do normally. A bit of a nuisence, but there ya go. Nothing insurmountable, I just had to park about 150 yds from the "normal" spot.


I got in, armed with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of anesthetic to be greeted by a tirade that claimed it was all my fault "they were diggin' up the bleedin' pavement, and no wonder you haven't got any soddin' money, wasting it all on bloody flowers and booze"


"A cup of tea would be nice, thanks mum. Bit nervious about the operation,tomorrow, are we?"

Wrong! Of course she wasn't (so and so ing) nervious, what did I think *she was - some form of wimp?

"Not atall, so if you'll just put the kettle on, I'll get a vase and put the flowers in water, as they're for you"

And so it went on. She goes into viper mode every so often, so I just put the metaphysical earplugs in, nodded and made non commital noises until we got to the words "And you never come to see me, anyone would think I was dead the way you carry on"

I couldn't help it - the logic just tickled my sense of the ridiculous and I started to laugh quietly to myself. "So who exactly are you talking to mum? Am I here? Why, I do believe I am! Have I come to see you? Yes, I have"

"That it, have a nag and a pop and go on at me like you usually do"

Oh dear. The Mother's not a happy bunny atall, but I bite my lip and make the right sort of soothing noises, knowing - or rather hoping she'd do her usual thing of ranting, and getting whatever it is that's upsetting her out of her system. She usually calms down a bit eventually. Trouble is, you're never quite sure what it is that upsets her in the first place.

But she didn't this week. Not a bit of it. Even after the op she was back in the saddle of vitriol within an hour or two.

ANYWAY, we got up at some appaullingly ungodly hour Thursday to get her into the local hospital by 7.00am, and she moans like the clappers that she had to walk to the car - why couldn't I park outside like I usually did. Look, I could park next to the barriers. I'm just being awkward


(I might add, the barriers were situated along the whole half of the left hand side, blocking access "up" the hill off. There are traffic controls for the up going and down coming traffic in one lane of the road for at least a hundred yeards in either direction)

If I *had have parked "outside the house, I'd have completely blocked the road and caused mayhem - which obviously I wasn't prepared to do.

I explained this, and got her into the car, drove her the 10 or so miles to the hospital, took her directions to the (apparently) appropriate department, only to find that it was *not the appropriate department, this was another half mile around the hospital grounds!

But of course, I should have known all this, and naturally enough, it was all my fault. After all, I *had been to this hospital hadn't I?

(yes, about 10 years ago, and oddly enough, there's been a lot of reoragnisation and reloaction in the intervening 10 years)

Yeah, right Soothing noises made, etc etc. Lip is bitten, the usual mantra of "She's old, nervious and crotchty, be patient" is mentally uttered.

Eventually, I found the right place, took her in, made sure all the official bits and pieces were done alright, wished her luck, etc etc, and returned back to the familly house, to await the phone call, telling me she was ready to be collected.

5 hours later I went back and collected her, listened to the saga of the operation and made her a light lunch. Soup and sarnies.

Apparently, I make lousy sandwitches. I don't cut the bread right - sandwitches ought to be square, not bleedin' fancy triangle rubbish. They don't taste the same.

By this time, I am torn between irritation, with a strong desire to give the miserable old besom a good ding around the ear'ole, a mild fit of smirking in self defense, and a fairly justifiable concern that The Mother is seriously going doolally tap, because it is blatently obvious she is being serious. She doesn't do irony, sarcasm or satire because she hasn't got the wit to do so. She never has done. Infact, I honestly and privately think that she doesn't actually understand the concept of humour - unless it involves comments around the level of the average Carry On Film and includes a reference to farting. That's always amused her. The sexual references always went over her head, I might add.

And the blokes outside diggin' up the pavement are doing it purposely because they *knew she was going into hospital for a serious operation.



And so it went on. I'm a rottern cook, a rottern nurse, I don't talk properly to her,I don't care about her, I'm a lousy daughter, a failiure as a human being, I'm a lousy mother, and my kids are rubbish.

I've heard this all before in one tirade or another so I just nodded and said "Yep - you've told me that before" and just carried on with the cooking, the nursing, the caring, and so on, and bit my lip raw at the criticism of the lads.

She's probably right about the cooking, mind - but then, (a) I was never actually taught at home - I learned the hard way once I left at 17, and (b) I've never claimed to *be a good cook. Mildly competent is about the best I particually want to be. Its not a passion. I seldom use ready made sauces or prepacked stuff, and I haven't died of salmonella or botchulisim or the Dreaded Lurgy. Yet.

I think the straw that broke the camel's back was when she was hovering over me yesterday, criticising the way I was putting the laundry into the washing machine, and stating catagorically, that I'd never get the clothes clean because I hadn't put the detergent *tablets* into the net provided -"You've got to put them into the net because it holds them in and concentrates the detergent properly"

I just roared with laughter - the sheer lack of logic absolutely slayed me; it was worthy of a stand up comedian! Billy Connolly, Russell Grant, Eddie Izzard, if you want material come and have a cuppa at The Mother's House Listen, learn and weeps lads.

And yes, I do have a sense of the bizaare. So sue me!

I got us both that British panacea for all ills, a nice cuppa, sat her down and said "What on earth is upsetting you?"

There was a silence, then another totally irrelevent tirade assaassiniating my charactor (yet again) a load of truely complete and utter nonsense, with no rhyme nor reasen behind it atall that I could follow, and, of course, the ususal denial. But I kept asking her the same question;what is upsetting you?

Evenutally we got to the Complaint that I was "Always Ill"

I explained (for the zillionith time) the nature of the ailments I had, to put it in perspective, yet again, for her.

We got the Complaint that I no longer lived near her.

I reiterated the reasens as to exactly *why* we had both agreed that we live a certain distance away from each other.

We got the Complaint I was a spotty teenager - and a stroppy one.
(Guilty on both counts, m'lud But being spotty wasn't a crime, last time I checked, so that's OK. And most teenagers strop. It's part of growing up and away from the parental control.

We then got the Complaint I was a strange child.

I am beginning to get seriously concerned now. I was a very quiet, frightened child, but I'm not aware I had taken to wearing my knickers as a hat so early on in life.

"Ok, I said, I've listened to you, but I still don't understand what it is in particular that's upsetting you. Tell me"


Apparently it is all my fault I wasn't born a boy so when the adoption society called her she could have had a boy. She never wanted a girl.

This I have suspected for a long while, so it didn't come as much of a surprise; in a strange sort of way it was helpful to me to have what I had suspected confirmed. It's nice to know you're right, even if there's sweet FA you can do to change the apparent problem.

And besides, I've always quite liked being of the pink bootee persuasion.

"Fair enough" I said "But... you had the opportunity to say no. You were under no obligation to accept me. You could have waited until there was a boy who needed a set of parents. I'm sure there were plenty of other couples who wanted a girl"

"Well... I didn't like to" she said. "AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!"

Well, it's all out in the open now, and she was quite calm after she'd said all that. She still couldn't see how illogical her comments were; it's me who's mad, not her. I was very thoughtless not to apologise for not being a son. Apparently.

(Take a hundred lines and stand in the corner Ev)

After that, she turned the TV on and spoke to me quite friendly and civilised for the rest of the visit. I came home this afternoon - she was obviously physically well enough not to need supervision, and I was more than ready come home


I wonder.

Do I call for the men in white coats now, or do I just feel sorry for an angry, bitter woman who's never had the courage or ability to be in charge of her own life, and keep a filial eye on her until she becomes a danger to herself or possibly the neighbourhood?

Or becomes in danger *from the neighbourhood? It's not a very nice part of Kent she lives in, and it appears that she's got a very obvious sign of "Vulnerable and easilly conned" on her forehead. She's been conned quite a lot over the last few years, now I come to think about it. (I don't get to hear about it until long after I can do anything practical to resolve the situation)

She won't say "Boo!" to anyone except for the lads and I (- and dad, and her mother, when they were alive) Which is why the lads seldom go near her. I don't blame them a bit, frankly, she's hard work. *I* wouldn't go near her if I knew there was anyone else to attend to her that she felt reasenably secure with.

I'm not particually upset by the revelations although her ranting and rudeness do severely chafe the nipples I admit; I'm not overly concerned she doesn't have much time for me, and I don't want or need her approval any more, but she's a human (or human in shape, anyway ) and as such, needs a bit of help, support and general TLC *because she's a human.

Btw, any sympathy, hugs or "there there there" will, I'm afraid, get very short shrift. I don't feel hard done by, and I don't want, need, or expect comfort or reassurance. My feelings of self esteem, and awareness of self worth etc arn't destroyed or in need of rebuilidng, I can do that fine for myself, by myself, most of the time, thanks all the same. I know when, and who I can ask, for reassurance as and when I find I need it.

I need to let off a bit of steam, occaisionally, I guess.



On the other hand.....

Any practical suggestions of how I persuade the daft old besom to seek medical help for what I suspect is possibly the continuation of some form of mental disorder, (though I haven't much of an idea which it is, if any) would be greatly appreciated.


I am pretty concerned for her state of mental well being - she's always been pretty illogical and has never really had the abiltiy to accept things "as are", but she is definately getting decidedly more strange. Especially in the last three years or so.

What, if anything atall, can I do to ensure she lives out the last few years of her very unhappy life in a way that is the most beneficial to her?

FTR I'm the only child, and she has no friends or confidents as such; never has had, either. She keeps everyone very firmly at arm's length. The neighbours are very good to her and keep an eye on her for me, and a couple of the people she goes dog walking with her drive her to the supermarket occasionally and do household chores etc etc.

She's been 77 on and off for as long as I've been aware of her - and I'm 50, so work it out for yourselves. She's always behaved "old" even in her late 20s, early 30s, if you know what I mean.



Life can be a right bugger, sometimes, can't it?

You are right there Ev. Oh, dear, I don't know whether to or . I hope that letting off has helped, because I don't believe you are not hurt by the diatribe, even if you are used to it.

If she has always been like that I doubt there is much you can do. Senile dementia, which I think you are hinting at, can take many forms. Often a nasty disposition will change to a sweet 'butter wouldn't melt' or a prim and proper character will start swearing and doing things they would never had dreamed of, and would be horrified by.

I would just hang in there and see how she goes. Maybe when the worry of the op. etc. is over she will calm down At this stage I doubt she could be 'coaxed' to go in to any kind of home (assuming they would have her!) As you say she has kindly neighbours who 'keep an eye' and I am sure one of them will say something if anything untoward happens.

I would have said you were a pretty volatile person when roused (or even when not!) so I am amazed you kept your temper, I am not sure I could have. I can't tell you how glad I am that all that is over for me, but the boot is on the other foot now, with us being the grumpy old folks to our kids From being the youngest couple in the street we are rapidly being 'that old couple next door'

I think you will just have to play it by ear. It is tough being an only one sometimes, but often it is no better having siblings, as things usually fall on just one of them.

On the surface, she doesn't deserve your concern and care, but I do wonder how much of it she really means? It is hard to tell isn't it?

Smash a few old crocks (of the pottery kind), have a and remind yourself she mellowed enough to help you get the car (self interest as we said!).

take care,
Websailor

Cheers Webbie

There's a large glass of being imbibed as we speak

I don't think there *is* much I can do, until her dog dies, really. The dog is her life, and if the poor creature predeceases her then she'll be completely lost and inconsolable, and possibly ready to accept a bit of practical aid. Not that I wish the dog would die, she's a nice little creature.

I can't get it thru to mum that she'd need to sell her house in order for her to go into a home; she refuses to believe anything except what *she wants (and she's always been like that) - and she wants to go into the old people's home up the road whilst I live in the familly home and come and see her twice a day like she did with her mum

No thank you. I'm sooner eat slugs, thankyou.

Fortunately, that's totally impracticable, but that is what she wants - a local whipping boy to bully on a daily basis. I think. And some more strangers to moan about. She could make Christ himself sound inadequate and a complete rotter, you realise.

You're sort of right, and sort of wrong about me;

yes, I *am pretty outspoken and very opinionated, full of oomph etc - especially with anyone or anything I feel strongly about...

BUT I am also very very paitient. And tolerent of most things. As long as I don't feel attacked or threatened on a personal level, I'm usually pretty level and laid back.


And I use humour as a defense - there's only been a couple of occasions in my life when I really *couldn't find a shred of humour or something to make a joke out of. Once was so long ago it doesn't really matter any more, and the other was more recently, and I just try and avoid discussing it.

I suppose it *would hurt more if I felt anything very positive for mum; I don't though, nor am I particually negative, either. I've learnt to be indifferent. It just takes constant practice. I feel a bit bruised, that's all. And saddened. It'd have been mice to have had a proper mum. I hear they're good things to have.


But... yep - she did lend me the cash for a car, and I'll pay back every penny, plus some interest she didn't ask for.



But I do get remarkably miffed at her rudeness and stupidity!! Narked even. Incandescent with rage and utter frustration, on occasion. Had she not been poorly and vulnerable believe you me I would have let rip with both barrels. I can stand my ground OK. But I'd not lose my temper with her; she's not worth that force of emotion.

The fact that I know I could - if I wanted to - lacerate the woman to bits with around 10 well placed words also helps

When I do lose my temper I've been known to make grown men cower and women and children run and hide several blocks away. And that's before I said anything, either. Its kinda embarrasing.


I'm not sure if it *is senile dementia; I think it's chronic depression/anxiety state of some kind - or some form of schitophrenia;(sp?) she'll argue with herself and her thought process is completely and utterly undisciplined and emotive. She'll start off saying (for example) that Hitler had the right idea, and go around in a circle until she ends up bewildered as to why anyone could hate anyone. She's an avowed socialist who votes BNP.(I'm really ashamed of that) It's like trying to talk to 2 separate people most of the time; one is full of hate and spite and bitterness, the other is a complete bleeding heart. Its almost as if she's afraid to think for herself, let alone *be herself.



That's the bit that concerns me most - she can be very very easilly influenced. Which is why she gets conned so frequently. She seems increasingly unable to *reasen* As long as its a bloke doing the talking, she'll fall in with any suggestion (well, within reasen) he makes. Men know best. Women? Pah, women are stoopid!

We know n-u-thing (a la Manual from Fawlty Towers!)

I'll just trust in the neighbours pro tem, and continue my monthly pennance - sorry - visits. She's a Church Goer, so maybe I'll rope in the vicar to keep an eye on her (again). Every so often, when I get overly stressed (usually when I'm a bit poorly or in extra pain) and need time out from her I do ask him to keep an eye.

I must admit, I'm quite looking forward to the time when I cease to be regarded as Middle Aged and Menopausal and I get promoted to being seen as a Proper Grumpy Old Woman.

I don't know if you know that poem by Jenny Josephs, but I've got my purple coat and red hat that doesn't go all lined up in readiness.

I just need to learn to spit!

Oh, Ev, I do know the poem. It's on my computer. I wonder when we reach that age i think I am getting there as I don't let things bother me like they used to. Purple coat and red hat (I hope the other thing that goes with a red hat doesn't apply, I couldn't cope with that!!).

<> Me too. I had hoped that once married with kids, mine would see me differently but she didn't. I do look with a little envy on those who are close to their mums, but it wasn't to be for me - I was a *mistake* you see. Still, at least we have someone to call mum, and so many children are growing up now, not knowing either mother or father, at least for sure!

I am sure there will be a point when she realises what she has to do, and that you are not going to come running. As you say when her dog goes might be the time. Sad, but I am sure all things will work out for the best in the end. As for her voting habits I am sure there are a lot of people who vote that way that do not realise what they are really about!

Websailor

Phew.
I salute you Ev
I have no advice (sorry) as am in same situation myself (except my Mum isn't nasty to me)


Cheers.

GB

>>Purple coat and red hat (I hope the other thing that goes with a red hat doesn't apply, I couldn't cope with that!!)<<

Just as long as they're aware I have a warm head,(and am therefore ahead of the Game) I can cope with the allusions of a cold backside You never know, there might be some poor soul with a sense of humour and a pair of warm hands for me, even now.


Don't think of yourself as a "mistake" Webbie; other people can think like that if they want, to their detriment! And if looked at objectively, so was I ! (my natural Mother, when I met her, couldn't actually remember what my father's name was..."It was Tom... I think" she said, or Harry... or was it George?


"Ah! says I, "not Dick then?"

And so were both my boys.(I lived in Eire, and they didn't *do* contraception there Not often, and not readilly and generally as it is in Britain)

But I think of them as surprises I didn't expect to receive. I certainly hadn't planned on becoming a mother. Didn't think I'd be good enough to be, frankly.

Boy, was I wrong! They were the making of me! If you get a minute, have a look at some of my poems - specially "Sorry Dad"

I was lucky; I learned to be very content with what fate dealt out to me. I like them as people in their own right (well, most of the time, anyway. Youngest drives me up the wall!) as well as love them as sons.

Its folk like our mothers who miss out on a lot of fun and pleasure, I reckon! Responsibility is a right old drag if you can't take a bit of pleasure and pride in it, after all. It really isn't our responsibility to try and resolve the problems they reasen themselves into. It just sometimes feels like it is)

Remind me of that when I next have a stumble, eh?

GB - if you have any solutions, let us know, eh? In the meantime, be consoled that running around for the old folks is just something daughters seem to end up doing and be proud of yourself for doing it without any fuss, eh? They didn't ask to have us nine times out of ten, and we generally don't mind being kind to someone who's been bothered to take time out to drag us up. Especially if they're not unkind to us.

It's just something that we *do.

Ev, I don't think of myself as a *mistake* that was her word, and not a welcomed one,oh, and all the sacrifices she made for me!!!! I have yet to figure out what they were Actually knowing I wasn't wanted, but just a duty, helped me cope with my own feelings about her, as till then I felt guilty.

Frankly she was so out of touch with life I don't think she quite knew what to do with this 'thing' that had been inflicted on her so it must have been an awful shock. At least your Mum chose to have a child.

Gb, I still you your happy childhood, even though you have been having a bit of a rough ride lately. Hope your mum is ok.

Websailor

I know what you mean - I got the "mistake" diatribe, along with a condemation of the "type of tart" my natural mother was, as well

I thought there were just strawberry, apple and raspberry tarts, but obviously there are less acceptable types as well

Fact is, they didn't make any sacrifices they weren't prepared to make - for whatever reasen; they simply expected more praise and reassurance than they obviously thought they were due!

Which makes it their problem, not ours.

Praise for being "normal" has always struck me as being rather...well... pointless!

Ah well.

Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

I'm just glad I'm not them

And... I thought* everyone* knows that triangleular cut sandwiches taste far superior to the more square/rectangular versions

Talk of tarts and up you pop, Legster

So,another visit that was much as expected then Ev

The mother certainly seems to remember things,even though her thoughts are confused,(and confusing).
It might be worth a word with the GP.on one of your visits!!

Can't resist a nice tart me....... strawberry or rasberry of course

Must admit, knew it was going to be a tough gig Smurf, but even The Mother surpassed herself in vitriolic bile and general woolly thinking this particular visit.

Oh well. Even my poor dad, told her on death bed "You've got a tongue like a blasted viper B, -I wish you'd stop it"

She was really proud of herself when she told me that She took it as a compliment! She's a selective listener for sure!

Actually, she has a *selective memory as well; not a particually accurate one, really. If it involved anything that made her feel bad she remembers chapter and verse. It it involved anything where *she doesn't appear in a good light, then it either never happened, or it's pure fabrication.

Now I look back, her mother went.... rather odd towards the end of her life, but Nan, although she was sly and not terribly bright was, generally speaking, a kind woman. She just became more affectionate and child like.

Mum's brutally honest, not terribly bright and has a *very*vicious streak in her; always has had.

I think that's what worries me most. As someone else here mentioned - there's no guarantee any home would accept her if she's too anti social and abusive for them. If she loses what little Self Awareness she has left, then she'll be uncontrollable, except by sedation, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

If she ever did agree to go into a Home. I very much doubt she will. Her home is her castle, sort of thing.


Very little point in having a word with her GP, really, Sal - she won't see him because he's the wrong race for her.

(I feel awful even admitting that; she is so unbearably racist I really do cringe when she gets onto the subject)

So when she *does go, she sees the one GP in the practice who's approximately the right shade of skin, but has a reputation of being about as efficient and helpful as an udder on a bull.

And no, she won't change practices. I've tried that tack. All experts are idiots as far as she's concerned.





Legster - I didn't realise you were that particular as to the type of tart you like.

We live and learn

and there's me trying to make out I'm all modern and particular and have taste or at least opinion on tarts.... Damn my cover is yet again blown..... and I'm not going to do the obvious joke there about blown...

P'raps best not to, eh?

yep.... I'm an me, I wouldn't dream of such a cheap gag .... damn, shouldn't have used the word 'gag' there

Behave!

You really are incorrigable, arn't you?

Moi? I know some people find it hard to swallow but I am like a little angelic really.... Oops didn't mean to use the word 'swallow' there

I don't see why not, they're pretty, graceful little birds - due back to Britain, soon, arn't they? It's sort of spring already.


Legster, you were supposed to answer "No, I'm not incorrigable, I'm in the living room" Do try and keep up, dear

Guess I'm just being slow today I tried being incognito once.... But cognito protested