I Can Help

She called as I lay on the couch recovering from a kidney infection. I was on the mend, but still devoid of energy or caring much about anything.  It had been quite the medical journey.  Knowing I had a kidney infection, calling my primary care doctor’s office to be seen, only to be informed that since I was running a temperature, I could not come there. “Go to an urgent care,” was the advice before hanging up.  Sorry, I thought you were a doctor’s office.  The urgent care used to be good when it was owned and run by ER docs, but now it was a corporation and my medical experts were physician’s assistants, not even nurse practitioners.

“You have covid.” 

“No, I have a kidney infection.”

“It’s covid. We’ll do the flu test first, if it’s not flu than it’s covid.”

“It’s a kidney infection.”

Luckily, they took a urine sample, but after having two very long Q-tips jammed up my nose and a no flu pronouncement, I left with my 99.5 degree temperature and went home to wait for the results.  “Most likely two days,” they had said.  Then for the next two days my temperature spiked to 104.5 intermittently and I became a bit wrung out.  On one of those days, my 91 year old husband came out and asked “is there was anything that looks like breakfast?”  I told him I had a temp of 104.5 and it would be a few minutes. “Okay babe, I can wait a little.”

I called to get results.  “You’re negative for covid.”  “I know that what about my kidney infection?” No results.  Finally, 51 hours after my initial visit, my own diagnosis was confirmed and after another go ‘round about which anti-biotic I was hopeful I would live.

Then she called.  My husband’s sister.  She needed a place to live for a few months. Could she come to us?  As she listened to my depleted, far away voice she said the magic words.  I could help you.  In that moment it was the lifeline I needed.  I agreed and she said she would be here on December 3rd.  That was about six weeks out. After Thanksgiving and do-able.  Yes, she would be bringing her cat, but it would live in the guest suite and be no problem.  Friends asked if this was a good idea. How much could she help?  How old is she?  75 is the answer.  I assured them that she was a lively 75 year old and I would have someone to be around so that I could get out a bit more. Maybe even sneak away for a couple of much needed respite days.

My husband is an only child with siblings.  His brother is 12 years younger and his sister 16. When I first married him, I heard about the sister a lot.  She lived a “new age” or Sedona lifestyle.  Bob’s very conservative, Catholic children found her laughable and weird.  Her own mother was suspicious of her lifestyle choice.  The night of her mother’s viewing she was riding in the car with me and said, “Bob seems sad.”  I remarked that his mother had just died.  “Well, she was my mother too!!”  “Yes, but he liked her.”

I love metaphysical and new age things to a point.  I hate ritual and cannot really relate to the plethora of angels, demons and various dimensions.  She lives for those.  I describe her as a member of the purple flame of the 12th order of the tin hat.  Kind? No, but pretty accurate.  The sister has the distinction of appearing in Penn and Teller’s Bullshit CD about the Sedona crowd and psychics. She is seen performing the dance of the giant phallus at the airport vortex.

As the time grew closer and I felt better, I had a doubt or two, but chastised myself and reverted to Pollyanna.  She could help. I needed help.  It would be fine.

She arrived on November 30th, three days early.  “Well, it was only an estimate.” She retorted when I pointed that out.  Her small SUV was loaded to the roof and she was towing a trailer.  I enrolled my nephew the next day to clear space in my back garage and help us unload.  She was somewhat appreciative but had informed me upon arrival that her life had just gotten a lot busier with her various groups of New Agers and she had a lot of calls she needed to be on.

Then the list of things she needed “seen to,” began.  The room was too dark and she would like to raise the Rollashield above the bed.  I called for service, crossing my fingers that it was not the gear that was shot as I knew they no longer make the replacement parts for the ones we have on the house. Luckily only jammed and $125 later, problem solved, and she had light. If one is a light worker, can they not produce their own light?

She smelled gas in the backyard. I said I knew that but had no real concerns as my plumber had checked it out not long before and said there was no reason for concern.  Then she told me that the faucet in the bathroom shut off when it was turned all the way to hot. With her following me,  I walked back to her bathroom and turned on the shower.  Worked just fine.  “Not that faucet,” was all she said.  So, I turned on the sink.  Again, working perfectly. “Not that faucet.”

“Well, what faucet?” 

“The one with the tub.”

I walked into the middle bathroom and sure enough, it completely shut off when you turned it all the way to hot.  “You’re right,” I said.  “Oh well.”

“Well, I have been told that I need to take a bath. My guides said it is what I need.  I tried to boil water, but it never got hot enough.”

I looked at her, took a deep breath and a couple of beats and said, “Don’t care.  This is way down my list of things to fix or spend money on.  None of us take baths, no one has taken a bath in probably 8 years.”

“Well, I have been told I need to take baths.” 

“Guess it will be somewhere else or your guides need to take up plumbing.”

That was the first week.

I relented because I am, in the end, a thoughtful person and a recovering co-dependent enabler.  My plumber came out, charged $170 of which I charged her $100 and had him recheck the gas smell.  He said it probably should be dealt with but not right before the holidays as they could pull the meter and we would be without heat and a stove top. He then adjusted something and the smell dissipated.

My first big foray was to lunch with a friend.  She was informed I was leaving and the assumption was she would hang out with her brother.  During the three hours I was gone, she came out once to get something for her lunch. Never spoke to him nor appeared to care.  The informant was my housekeeper who was quite upset and stayed until I came home in case my husband needed something.

The third weekend she left for a four day seminar in Tucson.  I took care of her cat.  A lovely cat, but I am allergic which creates challenges. Upon her return she announced that she was going away for another week, “But not until February.’ She said breezily. 

The next morning, Monday December 21st I realized I might be sicker than the cold I thought I had and went to get a Covid test.  Upon my return home at 1 p.m. I saw her for the first time that day. 

“This is not working. It is not sustainable.  You said you could help me, but so far I have made you happy and taken care of you.  It is no one’s fault, you, like your brothers are not cut out to be helpful. You all profess to want us all to have the lives we want, right after we do everything you need done.  I already have the prototype over there, I don’t need another one of you.”

She barked, “I am nothing like Bob.”

I agreed,” No he is sweet and grateful. You can stay until the end of January, but then you need to be gone.”

Then the positive covid result came in and my energy shifted to other greater needs.  My friend had  made me sick and I shared the wealth with my husband and his sister.  Luckily for us all, but mostly me, they had the mild cases, just exhaustion, while I enjoyed the more involved fever and breathing issues.  By the first week of January, we had all turned a corner and I revisited the move out date.  She was on board and agreed she had not done any of the things I needed, but she still viewed herself as helpful.  I said that was nice, but since she could not do any of the things I needed, I did not need nor want a roommate and January 27th was the move out date.

I left her for the second time with her brother on January 13th, to get a massage.  When I came out, my phone was blowing up with texts from my housekeeper.  Appears the sister-in-law was on the floor unable to move, having fallen on her way to take a phone call.  She then had lain there for an hour waiting for me to come home to solve it.  I suggested she call 911 and get an ambulance. She thought she would wait the 30 minutes for me to come home.  She had been down for an hour, what was another 30 minutes.  Happily, she realized that made no sense and had been wheels up to the hospital about 5 minutes before I arrived home.

A crack that could be fixed with a rod and a pin.  I asked what her daughters had to say. “I haven’t spoken to them.  Guess I could.”  You bet, I thought.

The “girls” are twins and are 46 years old.  One lives near Santa Rosa and the other in Washington state.  We did a conference call.  As my family’s caregiver and as that recovering co-dependent enabler, it was a painful conversation.  No feeling of urgency, no offer to come help, not a suggestion that either of them could offer her shelter for a few weeks until she was back on her feet. I mentioned the cat and was told I would have to deal with that.  To their credit the Washington twin began talking to the social worker at the hospital.  We did another conference call two days ahead of her being released to a rehab center.  Again, I said that she would need somewhere to go if they let her out of rehab after two weeks. The Santa Rosa twin said, “Why are we having the conversation?” That caused me to go completely silent. It was as if I had been hit between the eyeballs with a stun gun.

As I replayed the conversations in my head, I realized that the universe was giving me an opportunity for growth. As it so often does. It was not my problem to solve. She has three children and what I would and did do for my mother has nothing to do with what they need to do or not do for theirs.  My sister-in-law left them when they were teenagers to pursue her life with the ethers, essential oils and rituals. Perhaps it is true you reap what you sow. It has been a test by fire for my 12 step codependent program. Would I capitulate and rescue or would I do let the chips fall where they may?

I scheduled a helper to come that Friday to pack up her room. I will store her life in my garage until she gets out of rehab and has a place to go with her things. She is not coming back here and that will really help me.