Back from hell

Okay, so I was away visiting Mom for Mother's Day and for my birthday. I think I felt it was an appropriate time to go and it assuaged my guilt over not wanting to be there at all and staying away as much as I possibly can. But it was still hell, not least of which because of my own attitudes, for which I take full responsibility. This doesn't negate the fact that it was, indeed, hell.

I could tell that my mother's Alzheimer's is worse. I suppose it could have just seemed that way because she was under enormous stress because my stepfather is so ill. I can't even deal with how angry I am at him. I'm not a bad person for wishing he had, in fact, died--it would have served him right. Except then he wouldn't be suffering, which I don't wish on him, but at least some of the suffering is his own damn fault for trying to be a martyr or whatever the heck reason it was that kept him from getting medical attention when he first started feeling ill. He was literally at death's door when he finally got to the hospital. Neither of them seems to grasp the fact that, the longer you wait, the more ill you get and the worse the treatment and recovery time can be. Not to mention the prognosis.

Okay, that's as much venting about this that I'm going to do right now. I'm taking most of tomorrow off and seeing a couple of doctors and either having lunch with a friend or else trying to buy a nice pair of pants at Bloomingdale's. And/or a nice pair of sandals.

Meanwhile, I have to once again try to break the old solitaire habit, which is back with a vengeance. Stress-related, I guess.