But sometimes I find myself thinking of my Mom's slow but inevitable march to demise in a cold calculating fashion. It's gonna happen. I don't expect a miracle. There's never any good news in her treatment, not even when she sees a neurologist.
Her Parkinson's is so bad now that any moment now I am expecting that phone call saying that she's aspirated, caught pneumonia, fallen, complications of chronic constipation etc.
Each time she's pulled through. Each time she's significantly weaker. Its tiring. I do the best that I can for her...but I can't cure her.
I would smash all the prizes I got in med school if it meant I could get my parents to have a smooth aging process and die of one shot heart attack ...instead of this prolonged suffering.
Sometimes I don't even feel like praying about it...because my clinical sense tells me that my mother's suffering is never gonna improve.
I dunno how to express it. I feel myself....slowly detaching emotionally from the situation. Each time my mother has a crisis and pulls through, I react less.
It's not that I don't care....its just that....the past 5 years of rapid onset Parkinson has just been a speed train of worsening symptoms.
The queen of the house is ....long gone. What's left is a frail shadow.