Familius Horribilus Retardum

Not so very long ago, I did question the likelihood of my mother ringing up and asking me if I was taking dad to his specialist appointment, did I not?

She is more predictable than Swiss trains.

The other day she rings up, complete with "oh poor poor me" voice on, which I'm sure she practices for such occasions.

Mother: The air-conditioner is dead.
Me: Yes, we already knew this.
Mother: well, [store] wont accept credit cards over the phone and [other store] will but they wont install it and when are you coming down so you can get more money out for me?
Me: I'm not.
Mother: Arent you coming down for dad's appointment?
Me: No. I told you last time that that would be the last time I could take dad to the doctors.
Mother: Well *I* cant get him there.
Me: Get a taxi.
Mother: I cant get a taxi. I cant even get down the back doorstep.

[Note: the last time Monkey Boy and I went around there, she was in the back garden watering with the hose, and she has proudly shown off what she has been able to in the garden to me since then. I point this out to her.]

Mother: Yes, but then I'm in pain for a week.
Me: Well you'll have to figure something out.
Mother: Well if I cant get there he just wont go.
Me: He HAS to go. You have to figure something out.
Mother: Back to the air-conditioner. When are you coming down next?
Me: I have no idea. I have enough trouble waddling around the house and getting to my hospital appointments at the moment. This is the 21st century. I'm sure you can find someone who will take your credit card.
Mother: Ohhh, its just all too hard. I feel like going down to [beachside suburb] and jumping off the jetty.
Me: Whatever you think is easiest.
Mother: Well what am I supposed to do?
Me: I've given you options before about people who can help you but you dont want a bar of it. You're not interested in the easy option, you want to do it the hard way. So if you dont want to accept the help I've offered you you have to figure something out for yourself.
Mother: [muttering, hangs up].

Boy that felt good.

Am I a bitch?

Obviously, she will not take dad to the doctors. I'm in two minds about ringing the Doc and reiterating the situation, but as Monkey Boy has pointed out to me, there is a limited amount he can legally do. Thinking about this just makes me very angry. You would, after all, expect that the medical practitioner of someone with dementia has SOME responsibility to ensure their patient is living in a safe environment and getting the care they need.

Must stop thinking about this or it will angry up my blood even more.