A little more or
less makes all of the difference in the world.
On a day when my
mother does not have enough of her anti-anxiety medication, the world is
ending: everything is awful, people are trying to harm her, she cannot laugh
and she cannot see any light in life, at all.
On another day,
with the proper dosage, she is cheerful, accepting and sometimes even humorous.
I notice on these days, that she has more difficulty speaking and slurs many
words as she speaks. Sometimes, it is difficult to understand what she is
saying.
Still, overall, we
prefer the slurred speech and cheerful attitude to the other option, the person
I refer to as Mrs. Verderame or Eeyore, the depressed donkey from the
Winnie-the-Pooh series. Mrs. Verderame was our neighbor when I was growing up
in Chatham Green. She was wrinkled and bent, mean and scary-one of the
grouchiest and unhappy people in the world. My mother often reminds me of her.
I suspect that MY
AUNT does not approve of the use of Ativan for my mother. But, MY AUNT is not
the person responsible for meeting my mother’s daily needs: talking to her,
spending time with her, answering her nighttime calls, moving her, waking her, shopping
for her, cooking for her, feeding her, toileting her, cleaning her, washing her
hair, dressing her, wheeling her outside, checking on her, and attending to
every detail of her health and well-being.
I am thankful for
the effects of this medication. It makes the difference between possible and
impossible.
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