This isn't a how-to. I'm not a pinterest mom. I'm a firm believer in faking it 'til you make it. This is for all the millennials out there who secretly have no idea what they're doing. I'm looking at you, millennial caregivers. 

Shit Just Got Real

I've been trying my best to keep all of this terribleness away from work. As much as I just want to sleep all day, having a job as a distraction has been a good thing. I can leave the house and forget it all for a good nine hours or so. I haven't completely been myself as of late, but I don't think my work has suffered. 

I don't know of a better way to say this, but today shit just got real. 

Around lunchtime I got a call out of the blue from my mom's landlord and building manager. They called me because I'm my mom's emergency contact and they just weren't sure what to do anymore. They've been having trouble with her. Apparently she had been okay for a few months, but recently it got bad again. She's been harassing neighboring businesses and accosting other tenants. She is somehow convinced that her neighbor is running a "homosexual prostitution ring" out of his house. To her, her landlord is evil and out to get her. She got banned from the elementary school down the street. I'm not sure why. 

The building manager seemed like a nice enough guy. He seemed truly apologetic for having to call me  in the middle of the day and tell me all of these things. It wasn't an angry or malicious call and I did appreciate him reaching out trying to remedy the situation. He could have easily just evicted her. He said he could tell from her emails and handwritten notes that something was wrong and hoped it could be fixed. I ended the call saying I'd look at the emails he forwarded and address them.

When I hung up it became very clear that until we get her into doctors and into some sort of a program, I can't just keep living my life like nothing is wrong. Huntington's Disease will continue to creep in. Even though it's easier to keep my mom at an arm's length, it's time to face the truth. 

The possibility of her living completely on her own isn't realistic anymore. 

We need to hire an attorney sooner rather than later. 

We need to find a way to talk about her treatments that won't end with her in hysterics. 

Oh. And my test is in four days.

My Test is Tomorrow

Seriously, 2013?