And suddenly, a giant step back

This is a hard post to write.

I had been hiding my head in the sand for the past two weeks, enjoying my runs and yoga and designer coffee and experimental fake-meat products and reading Deepak Chopra (good stuff, don't snort...I'll share later). Blogging. Didn't call Mom once, for which I felt guilty, but not guilty enough to Go There. Just a wee mental vacation.

Yesterday, all hell breaks loose. Seems she has gotten worse - again! - with even more confusion in daily life, and losing control of her bowels, and somewhat less responsive, though the amantadine is still working wonders for her balance.  She can't play her new piano, though she does or did know how to read music. This thing is moving pretty quickly for PSP, I think.  I mean, we're only a year post-diagnosis, with symptoms only truly apparent a year before that...but as I said to her New Jersey specialist, the wonderful Dr. Golbe, I saw flashes of erratic behavior years ago.

Anyway, all this has just about broken Dad. He told me in no uncertain terms that he'd had it - he was looking at assisted living. Or driving off into the sunset on his motorcycle, never to be seen again. Understandable, of course - but impossible. It's way too early for Mom to be there. But what to do?  I can't bring her here to live with me, even with constant help. I can't do that to my husband and kids, much as I love Mom and Dad.

We did quickly decide that when Mom is ready for assisted living, we would bring her up near me. I can go visit daily if she's close, or as often as possible if she's reachable, while the very thought of going into a nursing home gives Dad heart palpitations; he has a deep fear of medicine and doctors, let alone that. Assisted living might be better, but who knows.  Dad actually shows symptoms of a heart attack when he's at the doctor's. Which gives you an idea of how valiant he is to have gone this far.

So I called a few places nearby and booked tours, though things around here are frightfully expensive. You know, it could work out well. Mom has her own little place with meals prepared for her, maybe a nice roommate, and can spend tons of time here at home with me, too. However, I think she would be heartbroken at leaving Dad. They've been married for 45 years. 

Right now, I'm looking around for adult day care for two days a week, and hopefully convinced Dad to have the nurse's aid come in three days a week, for a full five days of help. This will have to do.

As for me, I drank three glasses of wine and ate five bowls of corn chips, and woke up sneezy and bloated and full of self-reproach. I think I would rather indulge myself in fancy self-improvement techniques than drown in wine and reality t.v., my former diversions of last resort. It's harder, yet better for me, and more all-consuming and comforting, like learning banjo has been for Dad. But I can't turn my back on my parents any more, not even for a little bit.