While I was away
It seems while I was away having a holiday over in East Malaysia, things at home weren't going as well as I hoped it to.
Just a few days before I left, Mom was already showing signs of restlessness and uneasiness. She had returned right on the eve of CNY, and when she did, she seemed rather stable and contented. I learned from my brother that roughly a few weeks earlier she had taken a jab up north in the hospital, at her own. Seeing how it was CNY, I didnt force the issue.
A day before leaving to Sarawak, mom showed signs of a pending relapse. She was easily agitated again, jumpy and generally uneasy.
A few days after leaving, I learn from my brother that things went from bad to worse. She had become unbearable. By his own admission, my brother told me that he had slapped her. On top of that, they had fight in the house, right in front of my brothers friend, and the scene was rather ugly.
Though I was not there, I only knew too well what it was like. I had been dealing with it for the past 2 years of college life. I felt guilty not being there. It felt almost irresponsible to be here in East Malaysia, enjoying a week long holiday watching sunsets, pigging out and taking long walks along the seaside while my brother was home fighting fires. But there was nothing much I could do until I returned a few days later.
My brother had taken emergency leave and went with my mother to see the psychiatrist. Amazingly, the doctor did not see the need to give her an injection; perhaps out of sympathy, perhaps out of his own assessment. Instead he decided to put her on a heavy dose (havent we heard that before?) to be administered daily. I asked my brother how he has been coping and administering. He said that he has had to forcible give her the medication. Now I have no idea what 'forcibly' might imply, but its never a good thing when you have to administer medicine against a persons will.
As I came home tired from my flight (I was initially going to post an account for my first experience flying, but I guess that will have to wait), I was apprehensive as to what lay ahead. As usual, it seem like the life story for all sorts of enjoyment to be prematurely ended by never ending episodes of drama coming from my family. I came home to a sour faced mother that night, one that was not quite herself, who managed to do start amazingly start an argument with me within 10 minutes. My brother just called me out, and told me not to bother dealing with her. According to him, she is much better compared to the week before when it seemed that all hell had broke loose.
She is now on 4 different types of medications. 2 anti-psychosis, 1 for side effects and 1 for her high blood pressure. I have their names engraved in my mind and at my finger tips, not ny choice, but merely because I have been dealing with these issues for so long.
After all her running around, she finally decided to come back to us on her own will. Before, she had said that she wanted her freedom, even if it meant that she was away from her children. She left, and lived like a nomad for a month, moving from place to place, staying in a shelter home, sometimes on the street, then finally at a church. But even there, she said she couldn't get along with some of the people there, and she finally came home. I think she returned not because she wanted to but because she had no where else to go.
I no longer begrudge having to take care of my mother, though I still find it hard to dodge questions about my family; whilst in Sarawak, the mother of my friend kept asking me about my like in West Malaysia, especially about my family Does your mother cook? What kind of food does she cook for you? Doesnt your mother make these kinds of cakes for you? I found it hard trying to answer honestly without going into my family details. Not that I was against sharing, but I just didnt think she would understand, plus I didnt want the flurry of questions that usually accompany such revelations.
Sometimes, when I watch my mother, I feel sad. For anyone with a keep eye, you would see that she isn't normal. She twitches her eyes alot, she stiffens her fingers for no apparent reasons, she rolls her eyes, and she doesnt always talk in full sentences; its all due to the side effects of the medication. I understand why she isnt fond of going out a lot. At home, it is only us that see it. But outside in the big world, the eyes of society arent that kind; adults would whisper among each other, children will point their index finger to their head and make small circle, a sign that someone is crazy. That is the kind of stigma she has to face daily, and as her son, it is heart breaking.
Just a few days before I left, Mom was already showing signs of restlessness and uneasiness. She had returned right on the eve of CNY, and when she did, she seemed rather stable and contented. I learned from my brother that roughly a few weeks earlier she had taken a jab up north in the hospital, at her own. Seeing how it was CNY, I didnt force the issue.
A day before leaving to Sarawak, mom showed signs of a pending relapse. She was easily agitated again, jumpy and generally uneasy.
A few days after leaving, I learn from my brother that things went from bad to worse. She had become unbearable. By his own admission, my brother told me that he had slapped her. On top of that, they had fight in the house, right in front of my brothers friend, and the scene was rather ugly.
Though I was not there, I only knew too well what it was like. I had been dealing with it for the past 2 years of college life. I felt guilty not being there. It felt almost irresponsible to be here in East Malaysia, enjoying a week long holiday watching sunsets, pigging out and taking long walks along the seaside while my brother was home fighting fires. But there was nothing much I could do until I returned a few days later.
My brother had taken emergency leave and went with my mother to see the psychiatrist. Amazingly, the doctor did not see the need to give her an injection; perhaps out of sympathy, perhaps out of his own assessment. Instead he decided to put her on a heavy dose (havent we heard that before?) to be administered daily. I asked my brother how he has been coping and administering. He said that he has had to forcible give her the medication. Now I have no idea what 'forcibly' might imply, but its never a good thing when you have to administer medicine against a persons will.
As I came home tired from my flight (I was initially going to post an account for my first experience flying, but I guess that will have to wait), I was apprehensive as to what lay ahead. As usual, it seem like the life story for all sorts of enjoyment to be prematurely ended by never ending episodes of drama coming from my family. I came home to a sour faced mother that night, one that was not quite herself, who managed to do start amazingly start an argument with me within 10 minutes. My brother just called me out, and told me not to bother dealing with her. According to him, she is much better compared to the week before when it seemed that all hell had broke loose.
She is now on 4 different types of medications. 2 anti-psychosis, 1 for side effects and 1 for her high blood pressure. I have their names engraved in my mind and at my finger tips, not ny choice, but merely because I have been dealing with these issues for so long.
After all her running around, she finally decided to come back to us on her own will. Before, she had said that she wanted her freedom, even if it meant that she was away from her children. She left, and lived like a nomad for a month, moving from place to place, staying in a shelter home, sometimes on the street, then finally at a church. But even there, she said she couldn't get along with some of the people there, and she finally came home. I think she returned not because she wanted to but because she had no where else to go.
I no longer begrudge having to take care of my mother, though I still find it hard to dodge questions about my family; whilst in Sarawak, the mother of my friend kept asking me about my like in West Malaysia, especially about my family Does your mother cook? What kind of food does she cook for you? Doesnt your mother make these kinds of cakes for you? I found it hard trying to answer honestly without going into my family details. Not that I was against sharing, but I just didnt think she would understand, plus I didnt want the flurry of questions that usually accompany such revelations.
Sometimes, when I watch my mother, I feel sad. For anyone with a keep eye, you would see that she isn't normal. She twitches her eyes alot, she stiffens her fingers for no apparent reasons, she rolls her eyes, and she doesnt always talk in full sentences; its all due to the side effects of the medication. I understand why she isnt fond of going out a lot. At home, it is only us that see it. But outside in the big world, the eyes of society arent that kind; adults would whisper among each other, children will point their index finger to their head and make small circle, a sign that someone is crazy. That is the kind of stigma she has to face daily, and as her son, it is heart breaking.
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posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:37 pm
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