Jun. 30th, 2018 11:23 am
Secrets and lies
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muckefuckAs mentioned before, lately I've been thinking more about cultural differences in communications, in particular the sort of Midwestern indirectness I grew up with and how it diverges from other styles. Last night, I called my sister's hoping to track down my mother. She was there for AWI's birthday and after we dispensed with greetings, she asked me:
"Have talked to [Sis]?"
I correctly surmised that what she was really asking was, "Have you heard about [Crazy Brother] going off his meds again?" So I cut right to the chase and said:
"I just spoke to [Crazy Brother]. So if what you're indirectly asking me is, 'Do you know he went off his meds,' then I do, but if you're indirectly asking me about something else, then I don't know what it is."
"If you just spoke to him, then you know what his mental state is like," she responded and we went from there. I know that at this late date there's no way I'm going to train her out of this kind of conversational approach, but at I can make her a little more conscious of the alternatives.
He was in terrific form, of course, babbling on about some child he believes he had with some girl in one of his assisted living situations. Altogether, we talked for about an hour and he sounded a little better at the end of it than he did at the beginning, so there's that. Mom was supposed to take him a revised medication schedule so that hopefully he can still go along on their planned trip in September. If not, I may need to take his place.
Update: So I wasn't surprised to get a call from Sis on Sunday afternoon letting me know that he's been readmitted to the hospital. I assume it was his choice since that's been the pattern for the last decade or two. It goes like this:
1. He's doing so well he thinks he doesn't need as much medication. (He's finally accepted that he does need at least some medication, so this is progress.)
2. Rather than discuss this with his doctor (who might say no!) he comes up with his own schedule for gradually reducing the dose.
3. This works fine for a while (since the effects of his anti-psychotic are more cumulative than immediate) until it doesn't and he has a hard crash as his paranoia spikes.
4. He confesses to his family. Then after a week or so, he begins to get frightened enough that he's going to self-harm that he checks into the hospital himself.
It's frustrating that thirty years after his psychotic break, this is still where we are. So it's helpful to remind myself how terrible the first ten years or so really were and, as bad as things have gotten at times, they've never hit that low again.
"Have talked to [Sis]?"
I correctly surmised that what she was really asking was, "Have you heard about [Crazy Brother] going off his meds again?" So I cut right to the chase and said:
"I just spoke to [Crazy Brother]. So if what you're indirectly asking me is, 'Do you know he went off his meds,' then I do, but if you're indirectly asking me about something else, then I don't know what it is."
"If you just spoke to him, then you know what his mental state is like," she responded and we went from there. I know that at this late date there's no way I'm going to train her out of this kind of conversational approach, but at I can make her a little more conscious of the alternatives.
He was in terrific form, of course, babbling on about some child he believes he had with some girl in one of his assisted living situations. Altogether, we talked for about an hour and he sounded a little better at the end of it than he did at the beginning, so there's that. Mom was supposed to take him a revised medication schedule so that hopefully he can still go along on their planned trip in September. If not, I may need to take his place.
Update: So I wasn't surprised to get a call from Sis on Sunday afternoon letting me know that he's been readmitted to the hospital. I assume it was his choice since that's been the pattern for the last decade or two. It goes like this:
1. He's doing so well he thinks he doesn't need as much medication. (He's finally accepted that he does need at least some medication, so this is progress.)
2. Rather than discuss this with his doctor (who might say no!) he comes up with his own schedule for gradually reducing the dose.
3. This works fine for a while (since the effects of his anti-psychotic are more cumulative than immediate) until it doesn't and he has a hard crash as his paranoia spikes.
4. He confesses to his family. Then after a week or so, he begins to get frightened enough that he's going to self-harm that he checks into the hospital himself.
It's frustrating that thirty years after his psychotic break, this is still where we are. So it's helpful to remind myself how terrible the first ten years or so really were and, as bad as things have gotten at times, they've never hit that low again.
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