don't tell Natalie

a diary of my mother's stubborn resistance to accept help

30 January 2025:

Well, the wildfire of my mother’s dotage, which was briefly 80% contained, has flared with a vengeance.

Yesterday my closest childhood friend called to report my mother had fallen in the street while walking her dog, bruising her ribs and scuffing her elbow. My mother requested my friend come to check her out, and of course my friend rushed from work to assess. My mother was fine, banged up, but have no fear, her temper and her ego were fully intact. In fact she admonished my friend to keep her fall a secret from me.

Two days later, another call from another friend who reports my mother called to say her legs did not work. She had to crawl to the toilet. “Don’t tell Natalie!” she insisted. When told to call 911 my mother refused and after a bit, her legs came back online.

Additionally, my mother’s tenant and de-facto assisted living scaffolding has jumped ship because she called him upwards of 12x each week and it was simply too intrusive.

• “Pick me up some war wanton soup?”

• “Take me to the bank.”

• “I walked to the market and forgot my credit card, bring it to me?”

• “Rake the deck.”

• “Shampoo the carpet.”

• “Take the trash bins to the curb.”

I’m panicking!

My mother has always been scrappy. She’s perfectly fine! No problem to stand on a chair then climb into her kitchen sink to reach the wall clock and change the battery. Though she might hear just 65% of what I say… it’s an emphatic NO when I suggest hearing aids. Emphatic denial when I point out she’s left the burner on, the dog has no water, she forgot to pay the cable bill, her prescription has not been filled.

In this world, with this ‘administration’ frightening so many of us, I find my mother’s resistance to her own safety baffling, frustrating, and selfish. Heading south to try to instigate change. Wish me luck and fortitude!