I woke to a 5:30 a.m. call from my mother-in-law. She'd had a rough night and asked me to come over and talk with her. The door would be open, she said, which meant I would enter her house for the first time since I returned to the (potentially contaminated) classroom two months ago.
I made a quick cup of coffee, threw on sweatpants, grabbed a mask, and headed her way, a mile down the road.
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My mother-in-law is a creative, intelligent, complex woman. She has been nothing but supportive, nonjudgmental, and kind to me in the 36 years I've been married to her son. Our relationship has always been positive, but in the past three years, as we've practiced accordion together almost daily, our friendship has deepened.
Until COVID, she played the piano for chapel and visited with residents in the Elk Horn care center almost daily. When I was teaching at school, she would whisk in and tidy my kitchen, run a load of laundry.
Remember, this woman is 91.
She is also a conservative Christian who left our church when the ELCA voted to allow gay pastors to serve in our congregations; she fears cities and their bustling diversity; she resists travel and uncertainty. In other words, she holds core beliefs that are very different than mine.
We do not discuss the differences in our deep convictions. Instead, we silently love each other where we can. This calls for a Venn diagram:
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Her concerns this morning were related to the anxiety she feels about an upcoming root-canal procedure in Omaha. She's not worried about the dental work itself, but about going into the city, and about her (in)ability to sit through the appointment with her over-active bladder issues.
She'd worked herself into a panic over an appointment still five days out, imagining worst-case scenarios until the anxiety manifested itself physically: she said it felt like her "nerves were being stretched," a description she's used in the past during her most anxious episodes.
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I was able to get her a doctor's appointment at 1:30, so I taught the first part of the day before taking her to the medical center. The appointment went well, with a gem of a doctor who listened patiently as my mother-in-law described her symptoms. The doctor offered medications for both the over-active bladder and the anxiety, then nodded with understanding as her patient rejected all options.
My mother-in-law hates taking any medicine; it makes her worry. So we are faced with a circular conundrum: medication could reduce her anxiety, but taking medication increases her anxiety, so she refused medication, so she remains anxious. And the over-active bladder situation, which is exacerbated when she's nervous, remains a problem.
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So we walked out of the appointment without medications, but with a blip of optimism at hearing the doctor remind my mother-in-law that her bladder issues are worse in the night, and that during a daytime dental appointment, she will be fine. The doctor also suggested adding an extra pad inside her Depends.
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Sorry. No one wants to talk about urine. Except maybe third-graders.
But this was my day.
My mother-in-law is still physically strong and mentally sharp. She deserves control over her medical decisions. It is my role to return to her the nonjudgmental kindness and support she's given me over the years. So that's what I do.
It's hard to see her spinning in a cycle of worry.
I spill my frustration onto this page.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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