same #$%^, different day

Dr. C., my mother's Chronic Fatique specialist (famous among CFIDS circles for being one of the top specialists --- or at least one of the best actors), has convinced her that she has a heart problem. She does have pains in her chest, which I believe are probably real (I've seen her in the throes of them). However, she's never been to a real cardiologist to have an extensive workup, nor has she explored other possibilities (i.e., the pain might be coming from a badly pinched nerve, etc., in which case a pain management clinic, giving localized treatment, would be the best answer).

Instead of working up these problems and getting to the bottom of them, she's gone with Dr. C.'s hypothesis and followed his regimen, which includes a lot of non-medical nutritional supplements, no suggestion that she should even try to exercise (not even the occasional short, gentle walk), and painkillers (Vicodin). In my experience, when she has done gentle exercise, she feels lousy for a bit the day afterward, but then feels better (call me a crazy dreamer, but that's not a bad deal if her baseline is just feeling lousy). As it is, with no exercise, she's headed for nothing other than complete atrophy. As Dr. C. doesn't have admitting privileges at any hospital, all of her bloodwork or other samples had to be sent to independent labs; her houses on the island are full of styrofoam packaging and UPS and FedEx envelopes. Also, somehow, she's gotten hold of a lot of syringes and something called Procaine, which is what dentists put on one's gums to numb them out before injecting novocaine before a procedure. When the pain gets extra bad, she injects her chest wall with Procaine. It's just this kind of take-charge spirit which, when applied to her medical care, is going to kill her one of these days.

My brother J. called me a few days ago to let me know that she had gone to the Brigham & Women's ER last week. For anyone not familiar with the Brigham, it's a prominent hospital in Boston which has received top national rankings for years.

My brother joked grimly: "How to you know that you're a procrastinator? You don't go to the ER until the day after"; she wanted to go sooner, but had asked that her records be sent to her from Dr. C.'s office and wanted to have them in hand when she went (Dr. C.'s records on her weigh as much as a city phone book). J. said that she called him from the ER and it sounded like she was having the "time of her life", putting him on hold while she was chatting up nurses, telling them how they should run the hospital, etc. Apparently they did some basic tests, determined there was no emergency, and they sent her back to her campsite, outraged. Interesting, he added, that nobody other than Dr. C. (who is not a cardiologist) can discern the exotic heart condition she has. J. had lectured her before her departure to the ER that it would likely be a waste of time, with the exception of the idea that perhaps she could get a referral to the new general practitioner she so desperately needs while she was in the ER. She claims to have done so --- if that's true, that's one silver lining.

The interesting thing about all of this is that a few weeks ago, she left a message on my cell phone saying that she had a blood pressure of "200" and that she was "bleeding internally". A note I received from her from slightly before that stated that she was "emaciated" and was in her "final days". J. reports that she's still plump; the ER discharged her with no findings. I'm sure that if her BP was even 150/80, the ER would have seen that as a red flag. She's just trying to get my attention --- and with no knowledge of my real life or interests, nor any intention of making any of the positive changes I've told her she must make if she wants to have me back in her life, she's going for the medical soap opera approach. She can't have it both ways: if she's really that sick, then she needs to get care --- regular, unglamorous visits to a boring old GP's office, followed by referrals to specialists with equally unglamorous, boring waiting rooms. Not exciting midnight runs to a city ER, with two or three nurses assigned to check on you every five minutes while you wait for the doc.

I am grateful to J. for the update. I'm growing more and more certain each day that I've chosen the right approach: no contact. The vast majority of the people who post on the Adult Children of Narcissists online support group say that "NC", as they say on that board, is the gold standard for having peace in your life. There's another group of folks on the board which say that limited "constructive engagement" is OK too, but only with one's spouse or sibling present; the "N" is more likely to remain civil that way, and is less likely to be able to play people off against each other. I can say that *if* I am ever again in contact with her, it would have to be under those conditions. What a sad state of affairs...but at least I've extricated myself now.

I went through a pretty low point in mid-August. Stirring up these old memories in the process of recording them has been, in the short term, very difficult for me. However, a week in the desert, driving into the mountains with Rob and watching the late afternoon light shift on the rocks, really cleared my mind. The "stirred-up" feeling is gone and I'm left with more of a feeling of quietness. Perhaps that quiet is just what it feels like to be myself, as opposed to either trying to react to (or hell, even anticipate) her latest whim.