Because I have long lived in the same town as my elderly parents, most of the caregiving responsibilities have fallen to me. Still, my sister was a great help to me in caring for our father when he was alive, and is even more present now as our mother moves further and further away from us. Her medical expertise has saved both our parents' lives more than once these past several years of hospital visits. (My sister and brother-in-law: eight; hospitalists: zero.) She is always thanking me and doing nice things for me--visits to spas, trips to Europe--things that make the stress of caregiving disappear if only for a while. We both do what we can do and give what we can give.
I'm not caring for our mother at home anymore--she's in the Alzheimer's section of an assisted living place. Still, most days now I feel like Sisyphus. It takes a crazy kind of strength even to get out of bed, to try to hold my life, and her life, together. But yesterday my beautiful sister emailed an article to me. In her message she wrote, "You are fully human. (You'll understand after you read this.)" It's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
I know there are so many people on OS (and beyond) who are in different stages of shouldering similar responsibilities, and not just with elderly parents, either. I want to share with you this message of grace, with hope that it brings a new meaning to what you do.
http://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(09)60087-8/fulltext
With love,
TGD
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I understand.
AKA, thinking of you, hoping the memories lift you up.
My experience is of course different but there are things about this that are very true about me, particularly about learning as you go. I have not had to put up with the horrible sadness of deterioration, of losing someone in slow motion that I cared for on a daily basis. Yes, I've had grandparents with Alzheimers, but they weren't my responsibility and I wasn't with them often enough for it to be this awful an experience. I so sympathize with the man who wrote this article because, for him as for others caring for the elderly, care is a process of loss.
My loss, as you know, was sudden, but my care was, if anything, more comprehensive, and it went on for longer. Hand feeding, hand changing, lifting, positioning, bathing, etc. The worries were different, worries about the future (as all worries are) but of what I assumed was a much longer future.
As difficult as it was, my care receiver was all there. That helped. More than helped, really; that made it worthwhile. An odd thing to say, because I don't have experience providing serious care for someone who isn't all there, but it did make it worthwhile for me. And, absolutely, for caregivers we'd hire for when I was working or we needed a break - many over the years grew remarkably attached. Which, under the circumstances, really wasn't surprising.
At the time, and this is something I think a lot of people don't get, it was not a sad process. What wasn't currently possible was, for most of the duration, beside the point.
What a beautiful gift from your sister! It's such a moving story.
I was the only caregiver for my mother when she had cancer. I took care of her from my freshman year of high school until she died during my senior year. This brings back a flood of memories from that time right before she died. As I look back on that time now, I am so glad that I was there for her, and I wouldn't change a thing.
Off to check out that link.
Erika, yes, one day at a time.
Scanner, I filled out a form and sent it to the Dept. of Motor Vehicles after my mom had an accident. They made her come in for a driving test. Imagine my shock when the tester said she'd drive anywhere (except the interstate) with my mom. Then her driving ultimately pittered off. But I felt no guilt after that. They did not tell her who ratted her out, either. :-)
asia rein, bless you. It's the right road, yes, but a rocky, twisty-turny, increasingly difficult road (as you know). I hope you get some time to care for yourself.
Linnnn, yes, and I love how the author defines so clearly the gift we receive along the way.
kosh--the article made me think specifically of you, living through an experience so different and yet so similar. I've wondered sometimes how different things might be for me if my mother (and father when he was alive) was more herself. The continual loss of HER is the real killer--memories made back then vs. memories being made now.
Hopeful--what you went through at such a tender age! Talk about a good daughter! I'm so sorry for your loss.
LL2, "disintegrate" is the perfect word.
Donegal, I love your definition. I'm writing that down.
Fernsy, l'Heure Bleue, Karen, thank you.
BV, you are so right. So, so right. Sometimes I get enraged over it. The place where my mom lives has been redecorated twice in 2-1/2 years, but the CNAs and other staff who work with the Alzheimer's patients still make only around 8 or 9 dollars an hour. All I can do is tell the director how great they are and that they deserve a raise. My experience with nursing homes (my dad was in two) was absolutely horrible. Painful. Remembering it makes me furious and then I cry. One young woman, though, did bring my father a half peanut butter and jelly sandwich most days. She was a bitch most of the time, but she did do that, bless her.
Thoth, Desdamona, thank you for the kind words. I'm not special, just paying back. I'm very lucky that my parents were so wonderful; it makes all this easier.
.........(¯`v´¯) (¯`v´¯)
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............... *•.¸.•* ♥⋆★•❥ Thanx & Smiles (ツ) & ♥ L☼√Ξ ☼ ♥
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I regretfully, against my better instinct,
began taking Dad to receive radiation.
I had researched the AMA approved radiation.
Some physicians said radiation in the Elderly?
It was the # one AMA approved medical sham.
I witnessed ambulances delivering folk on cots.
My opposition? Well, my objection was ignored.
My Father became to weak to walk to the my P.U..
He confided in me . . . "Well. I was healthier before."
I read that radiation may burn youthful tumor growth.
I still can remember those caring for him. He was Dad.
My Father taught me how to live. He taught how to die.
But, I don't wish for people to be at my bedside as I die.
My hand was on Dad's heart. His heart paused. Soared.
He called himself an old Elder Buzzard. I always . . .Sigh.
Thanks
Take care
Memories
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