Mum’s doing really well. She’s able to get out of bed and slowly shuffle out of her room and back. She had a shower today, which made her feel a million times better. I helped her in the shower; it’s funny how you can’t imagine doing certain things for another person, like helping them shower, but when the time comes it just seems logical and normal. I guess it helps that mum and I have always been so close there are few things we wouldn’t do for one another, and we can anticipate what the other person needs.
She told me I could be a nurse. I’m not sure that’s something I could countenance; it’s one thing doing it for someone you love, but I don’t know how I would manage with strangers. Perhaps that explains the rough and no-nonsense attitude you can get from some nurses. Having said that, though, the staff at Prince of Wales Private have been lovely.
Mum goes to St Luke’s Darlinghurst for her rehab tomorrow. She’s nervous again, I guess about whether she’ll be sharing a room with someone, whether the staff will be gentle or boss her around, whether she can cope with the exercises and everything. I know she will be fine.
I’m still tired and emotional. Not much has changed on that score. I have a lot of work to do and am chipping away at it, but I just want to lie down in a dark room on a soft bed for a week. I find my patience is thinning and my snapping point is getting closer all the time. I get cranky very quickly, and I’m starting not to care what people think and whether I’m being kind or not.
For example, I cancelled my training session at the gym this afternoon and the trainer was a bit snippy with me. When i said my mother was in hospital, she grudgingly said, “Why’s she in hospital?” but wasn’t interested in the answer (it only strengthened my resolve to cancel my sessions with her and train on my own). Likewise, I took work home today instead of staying in the office and my boss seemed a little surprised, saying “Why, can’t you do it here?” No, I can’t. I’m finding it harder than usual to get things done at work because my concentration levels are so shot that the slightest interruption (of which there are many in any given day at the office) will just derail me entirely.
It’s very ungracious, but I feel like just wailing “my grandma died and my mum’s in hospital, just leave me alone!!!”
But I can’t do that. I’m not the type who falls apart, the damsel in distress who has a nervous breakdown and everyone runs around and picks up the pieces. I’m the type who keeps on keeping on, who turns up and keeps bouncing from pillar to post, trying to do what needs to be done without losing it completely, feeling guilty when I take time for myself and wondering why I’m so tired all the time. And then, if the facade cracks just a bit, and I snap, or cry, or give a terse response, people are shocked and say, “What’s up with her?”
Wah. It’s all about me, isn’t it? Wah. Maybe I need to start seeing a counsellor again.