Back in the Slope, clearing my mind.
Got back to the Slope around 3:30pm, and upon dropping off my EMT pack, I left my apartment and went for a walk to clear my head. I had come back from my latest time in Westport an emotional and psychological train wreck. Though I made Mildred a belated Thanksgiving feast, I wanted to pick up some turkey wings and stuffing that I could make and have in my fridge, as fake Thanksgiving leftovers that I can enjoy over the coming week back here in the slope. But obtaining those items would come after my walk and its attempt at clearing my head.
During my weekend with Mildred, it became clear that her breathing is becoming more and more difficult, with her wheezing sounding like she's swallowed several harmonicas and a set of bagpipes. It makes her miserable, plus she serially breaks out in fits of coughing that sound like she's trying to cough up her very soul, and the bouts of this can go on for hours at a time. I made sure she had water close by, but neither that nor repeated sessions on the nebulizer seem to do any good. According to Roger, this sort of breathing had been a thing but went away after Mildred's most recent hospitalization, but now it's back and I am very concerned. I will be calling Dr. V in the morning and alerting her to this, and I will also badger Mildred to get an appointment with Dr. V, in case something can be done. Seeing her like this is gut-wrenching, but I kept it frosty while at the house, and I did my damnedest to meet her needs.
Mildred's capabilities seem to dwindle by the day, and she even has to have one of her professional helpers assist her with taking showers. I know my mother, and having to rely on someone to serve as the modern answer to a Roman body slave must be galling her to the point where she could bite a railroad spike in half out of sheer frustration and anger.
Lately Mildred sleeps a lot, and I do mean A LOT. Between my arrival on Friday afternoon through this morning, I would say she was asleep, either in her favorite chair in the living room or in her bedroom, perhaps 80% of the time. She can conk out in less than five minutes, and when she's just laying there wheezing, she reminds me of a naked and helpless baby squirrel. It's a truly disheartening state to bear witness to, especially when stacked against a lifetime of memories of her as a fierce and utterly indomitable force of rigid nature that I preferred not to be around, simply out of the need to protect my own mental health and self-esteem. What was once a 24/7 engine of vitriolic reproach, judgment, merciless criticism, infantilization, emasculation, condemning damned near everything I said or did is not a mere shell of a life-form, a creature to be tended to as its time runs out, and it's all just soul-crushngly sad. Those who know me best are aware that there were years when I openly opined that I wish she would just die and free me of her relentless harridan behavior, but now I see her as an entity to be pitied, which I'm sure she would hate. She raised me to be a warrior and, with full acknowledgement that the two of us have a "complicated" relationship, she likely would think it a sign of weakness for warrior to take pity on their arch-nemesis. Well, this is real life, not some cheap Conan knockoff, and this warrior just cannot harbor hatred for a weakened opponent. So I just maintained a level attitude while there, and I worked to make her time awake as pleasant as possible.
Last night's other-than-nicotinal smoke break with an old friend did me a world of good and soothed my hidden anxieties quite nicely (the two huge slices of blueberry and apple pie that I devoured side by side on one plate also didn't hurt), but once I was on the train home this afternoon, upon taking my seat, I attempted to read a thick volume of Gail Simone-scribed Wonder Woman comics, but I could not concentrate as my mind mulled over what I had witnessed over the past 48 hours. Instead, I publicly broke down and wept. I'm talking a textbook ugly cry, complete with sobbing, and the lady seated across from me offered me tissues and said "I know. I know. Holidays are rough..." I accepted her tissues, cleaned myself up once the emotional sluices finally closed, and then I was able to concentrate on and enjoy my massive chunk of Wonder Woman adventures.
The volume in question.
It has been previously noted that it was Mildred who got me into Wonder Woman when I was an under-10, citing that Diana was her favorite hero when she was a child, with those stories being one of her few escapes from the restrictive and abusive household where she endured a miserable childhood and adolescence. The character's resilience spoke to her, and she imparted her love of the amazing Amazon to me. Unlike Mildred, I have been deeply versed in world myths and legends since age seven, especially the Hellenic classics, so Wonder Woman being a 20th Century take on the classical Greek mythic hero made me an easy mark. Since 1972 I have read countless tales of Diana, both good and bad, and I have to say the volume I immersed myself in on the train features some of the best of her stories from a recent era. It was just what I needed at the right moment of an emotional low, especially an arc in which Diana gets her ass savagely, and I do mean SAVAGELY, kicked by a creature named Genocide. She was battered, bloody, broken, and left for dead, but she soldiers past her defeat and shattered confidence, and soon returns to the fray, reminding me that a true warrior can break, but they possess the capacity to once more pick of a sword, axe, spear, what have you and continue to fight on.
That four-color example was just the inspiration that I needed, and I will soon enough return to the battlefield of my mother's dwindling time on earth, frosty attitude and resolve freshly energized. Christmas is just over three weeks away and I expect more of the same, with the likelihood that Mildred's health will have declined even further, but so be it. All things must end and Mildred would have made for a miserable immortal, so it is what it is. I'm just going to strive to be the best that I can be for her and for those who have been helping her in so many ways. Quite a bit of character growth from how I felt toward her thirty years ago, but we all have to grow up at some point, I guess. Whether we read and enjoy superhero comic books or not.
