November Was Rough & December Promises Spit

Savant was in the hospital for the major part of November. We could only visit him for one hour a week, and I went alone the first week. I lost it and spent a half hour crying in the parking garage before I could pull myself together enough to drive home after I went. And then I was a sad vegetable for a few days, so I didn't go again. He and his Dad needed more personal time anyway.

While he was gone I actually started to remember what it was like to make plans that had something to do with me and to possibly move from last place on my list of people who need attention. That came to a crashing stop when his after-care plans all involved me resuming the "Kiss Your Life Goodbye" chauffeur service. I tried to tell some one's voice mail at the hospital that I was going to be their next patient if they didn't stop dumping it all on me, but they wouldn't return my calls. They set him up with day facilities that were no where near our town. I'd object, they'd ignore.

They tell you he's an adult so they don't have to talk to you, even though he has signed a paper saying they can. Then they set him up with appointments at places he can't ride his bike to, or ride our local trolley to. (You don't want this guy behind the wheel just now.) I've already been taking him to a doctor who isn't in our town because there are virtually no doctors who will participate in Medicare! I'll spare you the rant about that travesty, and the story that we don't have those kind (mentally ill) of people in our town so we don't have services for them. We tried the one place in town when he first got sick and it SUCKED! Tag the loony, collect a check.

So despite my trying to get some one's attention about the fact that I was not volunteering to drive him to one city in the morning and another city in the afternoon, and other days have a different combination of cities and times, that is exactly what I'm doing. I got a lecture from someone at one potential after-care facility about what a good mother should be willing to sacrifice for the well being of her child. I wanted to jump through the phone! He's an adult! A sick one, but still over 21.

Husband points out that my tourette's is really acting up; gee thanks Honey. It wouldn't have anything to do with stress would it? I'm not suicidal, but the urge to sleep in the woods is getting stronger. Don't worry, I suck at wrist cutting. I've had worse from a rose bush. They are little angry scratches. Very easy to hide. I've only done it a few times and it only started in the last couple of years. It is really stupid, and I don't understand it, but I feel calmer afterward.

When I was little, one of my parents used to say, "Ignore her. She's just trying to get attention". I treat myself the same way.

Savant seemed better than he did in October, except when he forgot to take his medicine about a week ago and became very paranoid. After a couple of distressing days he confided that he was worried that we were homicidal psychos. He searched the house for evidence (bodies?) despite our assurance that we have always been peaceful folks. When I asked him if he would feel safer at the hospital, he said yes, but he wasn't willing to let me drive him anywhere. Long night. He got back on track with his medicine and the doctor tweaked it again yesterday, and he seems a bit better.

I want to get up in the morning and leave. Silly Rabbit, you can't be an architect anymore, you've got important driving to do and you're too old, fat, stressed, angry, stupid, one of the Extra People. If I didn't exist, these problems still would; how would Savant get to the doctor? Tell me please. So much for not writing about Savant so much.

Pity party will continue until a tornado blows fancy dirt over the rainbow.