Forthnights

Mother Part II

Having been ignored by the government hospital, the other choices we had was to go to a private hospital, or bring her back to KL. We couldn’t afford admitting her into a private hospital, and going back to KL meant we had to know which hospital to bring her to on a weekend. We went to the supermarket and bought plastic bags, bread and a shower foam, to try and clear the house. My brother, through his contact in his church, managed to find a private hospital and a doctor that was willing to see my mother’s case. We headed out to the hospital with some hope, although we knew it would burn our pockets. The sky wouldn’t be enough to separate the two different hospitals that we went to that day. The private hospital was big and modern. Fully air conditioned. When we arrived, they immediately offered a wheelchair for my mother (who kept trying to lean against the wall and lying on the floor) and ushered us to the doctor’s office immediately. They were friendly and co-operative to our situation and quickly provided us what we wanted the most, just seeing a doctor. But of course, he wasn’t just a doctor, with a big fancy door plate with the words “Consultant Psychiatrist” engraved proudly. My mother stiffened her body while on the wheelchair, erecting her spine and raising her body as if in a fit.

Bringing her into the office, we finally managed to get someone to listen to our case and our pleas for help for the first time that day. The doctor listened attentively, asking questions here and there about her history, and tried talking to my mother also. He told us my mother’s case was acute and chronic. He explained that my mother was having a thought disorder, and was pretty much in her own world. True, because up until then, she didn’t even call our name once. He explained to us that the human mental health was like a downwards step ladder. If it took a plunge, and treatment is give, it will go up again, but never till the original state. If not treated, it would plunge and plunge even further. At 10% of the original full health, a person should be able to take care of her personal hygiene. But my mother wasn’t even able to do that anymore. That meant that my mother was in extremely severe mental health. The acuteness could be treated with anti-psychosis drugs, but it would still remain chronic and go on for many years, probably for the rest of her life. He told us not to hope that she could ever become ‘normal’ but at best hope that she recovered to a previously better state and at least be able to take care of her personal hygiene.

Putting words and terms for what was happening to my mother helped. It helped me feel more in control and aware of what was happening and took away slightly, that feeling of uselessness and hopelessness. At least we knew in black and white what we should and shouldn’t expect. In the past, I struggle to accept that my mother was totally lost and mentally ill, but after what happened and what I saw on that day, I knew I had to accept the fact that my mother is indeed seriously ill mentally. We asked the doctor for a referral letter for my mother, and he also prescribed a liquid based anti-psychosis drug for her, which again he told us, we had no idea how she reacted to it until we tried it. We shook his hand, thanked him gratefully and headed towards the dispensary. This was the only bad thing that I could point to in a private hospital. The bill. For consultation and one 30ml of medication, it cost RM250. But we were desperate, and paid the bill and left to the house. Trying to get my mother in and out of the house also proved a challenge. She kept on resisting and pushed against the seats, and refused to use her legs to support herself and tumbled onto the tar road. In the car, she lied down under front seats and ignored or could not understand us asking her to sit straight.

We have always hated the neighbourhood at my old house. They were always very busy body. When we arrived, some just stared shamelessly, and others pretended to be doing things out in the lawn but their eyes ever in our direction. We have a lot of fond memories growing up in this place, but for the neighbours whom we disliked from the beginning. I lead my mother into the house while my brother took the things in. We dripped the medication into some milk and made her drink it up. She refused any food, but when we put the cup of milk to her, she drank it up eagerly. Seeing her take the milk as well as them medication made me a feel a lot better. The milk would replenish her and the medication would do whatever it was supposed to do. We lied her down on a bed and set out to clear the house. We would bring her with us to KL, but first we had to clear the house and look for her documents. Slowly but steadily we started clearing the house. We gathered all her clothes and folded them aside, but almost all needed washing. Then we started throwing away all the waste papers and junk lying around. This was tricky, because in the past, my mother used to hide her money and documents in seemingly innocent places. Among a pile of paper, or in between books and inside the sofa. We had to be careful not to throw something important away accidentally.

It was also difficult to throw away some of the papers lying around. Scribbled here and there, were her writing with words from the Bible, or her thoughts about us and how she miss us. Some wrote advice, asking us to be good, or asking us to come back. It was heart breaking for me to see all these signs, that in all these years, even while she was ill, she had her thoughts to us. We threw away a great deal of things, and finally swept and cleared the floor and gave it a wash. The medication did show some effect on her, although minimal. She was able to look at us when we called her, and instead of babbling incoherently to herself, she babbled to us instead. This was an annoying but none the less good and welcomed sign for us. We tidied the place until we were exhausted, but we couldn’t have possible done it all. That required a second trip down in the future. By the send of the night, my mother was restless and kept messing up the bed and moving around. We gave her some more milk to drink before finally lying down on the floor to rest. The next day would be another long and trying time and we both were emotionally and physically drained.

The next morning, we woke up at 6. Already, my mother was back to her former (worse) self. She had taken out her pants and panties, and the room smelt of urine again. She had done it on the floor beside the bed. We quickly gave her another dose of the medicine (twice a day) with her milk. This time, I bathed her and dressed her. We cleared up our things and got ready to leave. We were going to bring her to KL with us and bring her to a hospital there, maybe HUKM. As we were about to leave, I looked at the house again. I loved and hated the place. It was a place that many of my happiest and worst memories as a small boy were made. There used to be a tree by the sides that we used to climb and watched out for my father to come home . This was the place that we kept our dog Baxter, which we had to give away when my mother wanted to move to KL. I was crushed having to part with him. He bit me on my chest once and gave me a scar that is still visible till today. But he also tried to follow us up the bus one time when we were going outstation. When the bus man screamed at us and we were forced to push him down, he went chasing after the bus from behind until we were out of sight. That was my dog from the past. It was in that house that my parents had countless arguments, and my father eventually walked out. In primary school, we visited her here during holidays and she refused to let us go back. She locked to door and left the house to buy some things. Somehow, my brother managed to unlock the door. We left a letter to her telling her that we have left. I never did imagine that I would have been running away from my own house and from my own mother.

There are many other memories I have in that house. The great ones and the horrible ones, all of them unforgettable. As we locked the door and left in the car with my mother in the back seat, I looked at the house, and I knew one chapter in my life had ended and another had begun. Things were going to change again.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 4:45 pm Comments: 0