I can see that blogging has its sinister side. Once you start, you feel like you need to keep going, like a diary. Then you worry that, unlike a diary, what you post is available for anyone to read. It's like being an exhibitionist. You want to share, but somehow you worry that it's wrong.
Today the nursing home called to say that Fay was being verbally abusive to her caregivers. She has had outbreaks like this before, but I thought things were getting better. But today she hit her caregiver. The nurse practitioner will increase the medicine that is supposed to calm Fay down. I suggested that they check for a urinary tract infection, which sometimes makes her act strangely.
So here we go. My friends tell me what a good idea it was to move my mom to Maryland. "Now you won't have to feel guilty every time something happens and you can't be there," they say. So now I feel guilty that I have moved her from one situation, where she was apparently comfortable with her surroundings (albeit lonely for me and Margie and our kids) to one where she must feel threatened by her caregivers (and still lonely).
Go figure. Things will work out.
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