It is astonishing to me how much I still want my mother's approval -- even when she is in early dementia and raving and I am 64.

I have been trying to get services to her apartment; she is 87 and dying of COPD. I knew getting Social Services involved meant that she could be put in a hospital without her permission; but since she won't listen to me, I had to risk it.

And she was indeed placed in a hospital against her will -- with malnutrition, dehydration, renal failure, ulcers, and bed sores.

Because she refused to sign medical proxy or power of attorney before this happened, I had no authority to get her out. I have been working with nurses, a psychiatrist, and three social workers to find our her health and what can be arranged. She wants me to get her out, NOW, right this minute.

Is she grateful for my endless phone calls from the state where I live to fix a situation she brought on herself?

Not at all. She shouts and orders me. "Get up here. Now. I am YOUR MOTHER!"

I see no reason to fly up there to be verbally abused.

She slams down the receiver. "I disown you."

Huh. There go my dreams of being Princess Wants2Fly, inheriting the castle in Poland, the summer house in Austria, the fabulous family fortune and private jet.

Yet, yesterday when I called and she disowned me, again, I found myself crying in my office on and off for hours.

Working with a counselor, I actually experienced approval from my mother during the last five years. How desperately I wanted that all my life.

Now that she is incapable of rational thought, how idiotic to expect her not to revert back to her old patterns of browbeating me endlessly.

I did not have to accept being her guardian and releasing her from the hospital as soon as I can arrange care, but I have. She is, after all, my MOTHER.

Most likely will have to be taken to a home, very much against her will, eventually, because her condition will continue to deteriorate.

My aunt, her sister, says well maybe she will have lost so much mental capacity by then I can just take her by the hand and say, "Come on, mom, I have to take you to a new place to live."

I'm not counting on it. Some dementia causes violence, and she is well on her way.

And I love her anyway.

Is that unconditional love? Co-dependency? My own form of being deranged?