Every word a fumble

[smokingboot]

But I had to call anyway. She sent me the message that she was upset, and so I telephoned. Her voice was hoarse and cross, almost shouting and brooking no contradiction. She is furious that Bro is going over to see her, furious that he's bringing a couple of friends, refusing to see him because...

Monkeypox.

Which she has decided is much worse than Covid. We should stay indoors, we should go nowhere, if anything happened to us she would be etcetera etcetera, and she grew louder and angrier until she simply said 'goodbye' and hung up.

I wasn't clever enough with my words; not soothing enough and too honest, too close to irritation, because of this exhaustion which leaves me nothing beyond truth if even that. I pointed out that she has been like this all her life, and though I didn't call her the hypochondriac's equivalent of a storm chaser that's a pretty accurate description. Oh, she has been finding out all about Monkeypox by which she means she's been finding worst case scenarios on the web, provided by any nutter squawking away for subscribers. For me, the worst thing is her casual denial of the reality of our childhood, her obsessive and horrible behaviour over various diseases like rabies. She just says it didn't happen, and there you go, past chucked away, life experience discarded, and respect for all she has put others through simply not there. People who haven't lived in that half world, where reality is completely mutable according to the dictates of a crazy person, cannot imagine what it is like, how miserable and dangerous and lonely it is.

But never mind that, OK, there is a danger in my brother going over and will be whatever we do now, always, because she won't get the Covid vaccine. She can't even worry about the real problem, no, monkeypox for crying out loud, monkeypox is her new favourite obsession. Why is he going? He says he just feels like it, but it could be that, in an astonishing moment of normal human behaviour, a man who has just had his second heart attack might want to see his mother in case he f*cking dies . He can't tell her anything about it, because she will simply plummet into an even more fragile state. She can neither accept nor provide one iota of emotional support.

I feel sorry for him. But I mustn't tell him that.
I don't know how to support him or her because today I lack words and thoughts.
So, time for nothing at all. And come back tomorrow, sharper and faster.

Comments

[mallorys_camera]

Oh, dear. I am so sorry.

Of course, the ironic thing is that she's almost certainly vaccinated against smallpox, which will protect her against infection even if the arms with which Bro embraces her are covered with monkeypox.

How exhausting.

I hate it when I have something like this on my mind and someone else cuts in with, Wait till I tell you what happened to me!

But sometimes your mother reminds me of my mother. Who was so crazy that the morning after her cancer operation, she ran away from the hospital, and I had to track her down—in a pounding rain, no less. When I finally found her after driving up and down the streets by the hospital for a couple of hours, she was still in her hospital gown and had all these bleeding drains trailing after her. The awfulness was beyond words.

You're a saint for being so kind and restrained.

[smokingboot]

I've read this kind comment over and over the past couple of days, too tired to reply straight away, but it was of great comfort to me painful though it was.

I could see you in the rain. I could almost see her.

And I also felt a kind of helpless sorrow, that after everything else you had gone through there was this as well. You are very brave, extremely compassionate, and it is an honour as well as a pleasure to have you as a friend XXX

[mallorys_camera]

You are very kind.

I learned to be a survivor.

Which means that like all survivors, I have a certain impatience toward people who feel entitled to be mollycoddled.

That's simultaneously my best and worst trait. 😀