I was wrong of course, about my mother being home soon. She would spend around two and a half months in the rehab ward.
I went back to work after having settled my mother into rehab and when I did, the when the chips are down good friends rallied round, taking supplies to my mother on a daily basis and providing moral support. I don’t know how I would have managed without them. Especially Jane who was visiting on an almost daily basis and was also sorting out my mother’s laundry.
Living one hour flight, followed by a one hour drive away from my mother, it was not easy, but the pressure I put upon myself as well as my bank balance to fly over and be there for her as much as possible was immense.
My life took a nosedive. I was juggling my own life and my job with hours of bedside vigils and discussing my mother’s future with hard-nosed consultants whose bedside manner was not going down well with my mother.
I became apathetic and dare I say depressed. My mother was completely oblivious to what I was going through. In her mind, whatever I was doing for her, was never enough, but it had always been like that.
Most weekends I would be at her bedside, returning to work on the Monday, deprived of sleep. I was drained, both mentally and physically, which is what 3 GP’s had thought was wrong with my Mother in January 2012. My work was suffering and my social life had trailed off, because I was never around at the weekends.
Next … Rehab and Reminiscing