Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Carol Update

This week was hard. We met in our park and talked, but the conversation was exhausting. According to Carol, most everyone is out to get her. Her evil sisters and her evil neighbors, the evil credit card company, the evil apartment managers, the evil electric company. She talks with a low, harsh, monotone voice, like her parrot, Pebbles. And when she's especially anxious, her large hazel eyes dart back and forth, scanning the park for evil suspects. She went on and on and on. I spoke a total of...probably ten one and a half hours. I'm not exaggerating. When I did speak it was to mention that, possibly, her evil neighbors weren't so evil because they asked her an insensitive question about her husband's death. Maybe they just didn't know what to say. Alot of times people don't know what to say. She ignored me. Talked over me. Acted like she didn't hear me. I got tired. My back hurt. My head throbbed. She called someone a bitch every 20 minutes. She trusts me and Seth and another girl in our apartment complex, halfway trusts the woman across the way, and that's it, she says.

It's starting to weird me out. I don't know if that's good or bad.

She brought me two cards she wrote to Tim when he was alive. One for their 10th anniversary and one for their 11th. Just so I could see what she wrote to him, how she felt about him.

She made an appointment to take Misty to the vet to put her to sleep. The tumor on Misty's lip is getting too big, and she's having a hard time eating. She showed me an email she received about a place where dogs go when they die. A place "this side of heaven" called "Rainbow Bridge", where they wait for their owners in the afterlife. Carol seemed disappointed. She said she wasn't sure about it, because she wanted Misty to be with Tim, not waiting for her on Rainbow Bridge. I didn't know what to say.

Friday's the day. I think I'll send her a card. She'd like that.


SandinaJ said...

I love reading about your meetings with Carol.

It sounds like she's having a hard time. Maybe a lot of it has to do with having to part with her dog. I can imagine that's hard for her, especially since she doesn't feel like she can trust anyone in her life.

Hang in there. You are good for her even if you don't get to say much to her or even if the only thing you can do is pray for her.

truevyne said...

Dear Fancy,
It's very difficult to be around when the dark side of desperation emerges. Loss brings it on. A card would be nice. Wonder if she'd be open to another dog through rescue?

Chaotic Hammer said...

This one got me to thinking so much that my thoughts were too long for blog comments. So I wrote a new blog entry inspired by it.

Rob said...

I said it before, and I'll say it again. Be careful, and make sure you know what you're dealing with here.

Carol may need more help than just a listening ear (although that can't hurt), and may do things you don't expect her to do. She lives in a reality that's different from the one you live in. Maybe there are other resources you can draw on to help?

FancyPants said...

Thanks for the encouragment guys. It's very refreshing.

Rob, yeah, her reality is definitely different. She's not well. I do know that she goes to a psycologist and takes anxiety medication of some sort. She also goes to a grief counselor. This is all what she tells me, anyways.

She's mentioned before that she'll have just taken her medicine when we talk, so it could be that it hadn't kicked in yet this past Tuesday. I've noticed that she's better certain parts of the day...

But I'm careful. We always meet outside, out in the open. I've realized that I'm not going to fix her. I'm not trying to, really. Just trying to be a friend.

FancyPants said...

Rob, you bring up an interesting point. And it's something I've been asking myself.

What is my role here? Does Christ want me to make sure she has and gets professional help? Is that being a true friend? Or do I keep doing what I'm doing, and know that lonliness is a sickness that I can help. Being there in the midst of her despair.

She's sane enough to take care of herself, drive, pay bills, make friends. She functions well enough on her own. She's disabled, but she's capable of most things.

OK, enough from me tonight. It's date night, and I'm hungry.