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I rode my bike a couple of miles to a hospital yesterday to get my blood drawn for a hormone level check. So far so normal, at least for the pandemic era. But as I was locking my bike up, I noticed a young woman loudly displaying several signs of schizophrenia - the repetition of "We don't die at 24" and some other phrases, the flapping twisted hands, yelling "That's not my name" at nurses, and so on. The nurses said they just wanted to keep her out of the street, which fortunately wasn't too busy. There were a couple of security dudes keeping tabs on the situation, too. I think they eventually got the patient back in the building. I'm not completely sure because everyone was wearing masks, but there was a middle-aged lady who seemed to have the same eyes and hair as the patient.
I don't need too much help imagining what it's like to have an immediate family member with schizophrenia: my mother's sister Aunt H has it. H is 89 and nearly blind now. My mother's sister-in-law Aunt D was taking care of Aunt H until Aunt D fell and broke her hip. Aunt D deserves some kind if medal, I think.
Aunt H was easily my favorite of all my aunts & uncles when I was a young child. She actually spent time with us out-of-town nieces & nephews and did fun things with us. But even before my mother started succumbing to dementia, she spoke of Aunt H in the past tense. The severity of her illness has waxed and waned since her late teens, and these days it's as bad as ever, according to intelligence from the United Sister Front. (I'm told it would be a very bad idea for me to contact Aunt H, because she doesn't approve of my little switcheroo.)
As I wrote earlier, Aunt H transmits delusions over the phone to my mom, and the USF has to do informational cleanup. But that's nothing: Aunt D's son M is scrambling to arrange long-term care for his mother and Aunt H. I have to wonder how that's going.
I wouldn't mind seeing Aunt D & M again. And my first cousins once removed T, K, and S. The area where my mother grew up, and where most of her family still lived at least until recently, is midway between my sisters; it would be a natural place for a big reunion. I wonder if I'll ever see that beautiful place – the first place I ever saw snow – or my mother's people again.
I don't need too much help imagining what it's like to have an immediate family member with schizophrenia: my mother's sister Aunt H has it. H is 89 and nearly blind now. My mother's sister-in-law Aunt D was taking care of Aunt H until Aunt D fell and broke her hip. Aunt D deserves some kind if medal, I think.
Aunt H was easily my favorite of all my aunts & uncles when I was a young child. She actually spent time with us out-of-town nieces & nephews and did fun things with us. But even before my mother started succumbing to dementia, she spoke of Aunt H in the past tense. The severity of her illness has waxed and waned since her late teens, and these days it's as bad as ever, according to intelligence from the United Sister Front. (I'm told it would be a very bad idea for me to contact Aunt H, because she doesn't approve of my little switcheroo.)
As I wrote earlier, Aunt H transmits delusions over the phone to my mom, and the USF has to do informational cleanup. But that's nothing: Aunt D's son M is scrambling to arrange long-term care for his mother and Aunt H. I have to wonder how that's going.
I wouldn't mind seeing Aunt D & M again. And my first cousins once removed T, K, and S. The area where my mother grew up, and where most of her family still lived at least until recently, is midway between my sisters; it would be a natural place for a big reunion. I wonder if I'll ever see that beautiful place – the first place I ever saw snow – or my mother's people again.
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Date: 2021-02-25 10:02 pm (UTC)From: