The holidays are a time for togetherness, to share the pleasures of family. They are also a bittersweet time because, in the midst of that togetherness, we are also faced with change. Unfortunately, change includes the inevitable changes that accompany a chronic illness, or the decline and losses of old age. That's just part of life.
The decline that ill or older family members are experiencing can be especially obvious during holiday events. Maybe the aren't moving so well, or aren't as focused, or are showing other impairments. If you haven't seen them for a long period of time, this can be especially disconcerting. It is only human nature to be tempted to dwell on what used to be, and to be filled with sadness and regret. No one wants to be reminded that old age is often accompanied by decline, and that the circle will not be unbroken.
But the holidays are also a time to remember! Past holidays, memories of good deeds and kind words, shared joys and shared sadness. The little and the big things that make up relationships.
Holiday events are a great time to reminisce about the past. And older people often have vivid memories of these shared events, even if they aren't always so good about remembering what they might have done the day before. This is how the human brain works.
Over the holidays, sit down with your family member and share the memories. Conversations starters might include:
"Remember the time…"
"What was it like when…"
"Tell me a story about…"
Or even…
"Thank you so much for the time…"
Who knows, you might learn something new. And chances are, your older loved one will fill you in a few details that have slipped your mind.
And if they have forgotten, then it's your turn to tell a story. Fill them in on a time that you shared together. Remind them of what they have meant to you.
Holidays are for sharing the present, the past, and building bridges into the future.
Share the love!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Sharing the love over the holidays
The holidays are a time for togetherness, to share the pleasures of family. They are also a bittersweet time because, in the midst of that togetherness, we are also faced with change. Unfortunately, change includes the inevitable decline and losses of old age. That's just part of life.
The decline that older family members are experiencing can be especially obvious during holiday events. Maybe the aren't moving so well, or aren't as focused, or are showing other impairments. If you haven't seen them for a long period of time, this can be especially disconcerting. It is only human nature to be tempted to dwell on what used to be, and to be filled with sadness and regret. No one wants to be reminded that old age is often accompanied by decline, and that the circle will not be unbroken.
But the holidays are also a time to remember! Past holidays, memories of good deeds and kind words, shared joys and shared sadness. The little and the big things that make up relationships.
Holiday events are a great time to reminisce about the past. And older people often have vivid memories of these shared events, even if they aren't always so good about remembering what they might have done the day before. This is how the human brain works.
Over the holidays, sit down with your older family member and share the memories. Conversations starters might include:
"Remember the time…"
"What was it like when…"
"Tell me a story about…"
Or even…
"Thank you so much for the time…"
Who knows, you might learn something new. And chances are, your older loved one will fill you in a few details that have slipped your mind.
And if they have forgotten, then it's your turn to tell a story. Fill them in on a time that you shared together. Remind them of what they have meant to you.
Holidays are for sharing the present, the past, and building bridges into the future.
Share the love!
The decline that older family members are experiencing can be especially obvious during holiday events. Maybe the aren't moving so well, or aren't as focused, or are showing other impairments. If you haven't seen them for a long period of time, this can be especially disconcerting. It is only human nature to be tempted to dwell on what used to be, and to be filled with sadness and regret. No one wants to be reminded that old age is often accompanied by decline, and that the circle will not be unbroken.
But the holidays are also a time to remember! Past holidays, memories of good deeds and kind words, shared joys and shared sadness. The little and the big things that make up relationships.
Holiday events are a great time to reminisce about the past. And older people often have vivid memories of these shared events, even if they aren't always so good about remembering what they might have done the day before. This is how the human brain works.
Over the holidays, sit down with your older family member and share the memories. Conversations starters might include:
"Remember the time…"
"What was it like when…"
"Tell me a story about…"
Or even…
"Thank you so much for the time…"
Who knows, you might learn something new. And chances are, your older loved one will fill you in a few details that have slipped your mind.
And if they have forgotten, then it's your turn to tell a story. Fill them in on a time that you shared together. Remind them of what they have meant to you.
Holidays are for sharing the present, the past, and building bridges into the future.
Share the love!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Giving, giving, gone?
The holidays are a time of giving to others and that can be a beautiful thing. But to someone involved in being a caregiver, the holidays can add an additional burden that can make the holidays feel like one big burden. If you are a caregiver, you are most likely trying to balance your caregiving responsibilities with the other obligations that arise during this time of year. You may be doing your own shopping while also shopping for the person you care for, wrapping their gifts as you wrap yours, planning events that may or may not include them. The pressure to keep up your own personal traditions, and to please the people who rely on you, while also keeping up traditions for the person you care for can be draining. I know, I have been there. And so have many of my clients. I would encourage to give up the need to be super________ (woman, man, adult child, partner, etc.) Decide what you can reasonably do for the people in your life and what you can't do. Enlist help. Say no to a few events, or go but buy a pie instead of showing off your baking skills. Also, be honest with the person you are caring for. Let them know what you want to do and can do, and also what you want to do but can't do.
Build in some "me" time -- now wouldn't that be a perfect gift?
Remind yourself that you are doing the best you can. Giving until you are angry, frustrated, emotionally and physically depleted... that isn't going to help anyone.
Take time to rest, meditate, get reconnected with your own inner core. You can only do what you can do.
Build in some "me" time -- now wouldn't that be a perfect gift?
Remind yourself that you are doing the best you can. Giving until you are angry, frustrated, emotionally and physically depleted... that isn't going to help anyone.
Take time to rest, meditate, get reconnected with your own inner core. You can only do what you can do.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Take a break, even for a minute or two
I know you think you have to present every second, that if you lower your guard for the briefest of moments, something bad might happen. And it would your fault, or so it seems like. And what if a tear needed to be wiped away, as a moment of sadness or loneliness passed, and you weren't there to make everything better, or at least try to.
At some point, even you are going to have to admit that you might have human qualities. Maybe you aren't a saint, at least not 24/7.
Take a break. Leave the room for a few minutes. Take a walk, even if it is out to the parking lot and back, or even down the hall. Find out where the soda machines are even though you already know. After all, they might have moved over that last day or two. Call a friend, call your answering machine, call the number for the time and weather even though you can see the time on your cell phone and you already know it is cold outside.
Take a break. Breathe. Let yourself be human.
At some point, even you are going to have to admit that you might have human qualities. Maybe you aren't a saint, at least not 24/7.
Take a break. Leave the room for a few minutes. Take a walk, even if it is out to the parking lot and back, or even down the hall. Find out where the soda machines are even though you already know. After all, they might have moved over that last day or two. Call a friend, call your answering machine, call the number for the time and weather even though you can see the time on your cell phone and you already know it is cold outside.
Take a break. Breathe. Let yourself be human.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
All together now... breathe
Not sure how you can help? You can be a support to someone by simply breathing with them. Literally.
Sit near the person you are caring for and watch them breathe. Try to breathe in rhythm with them -- inhale when they inhale, exhale when they exhale.
As you inhale, imagine that you are suffering along with them. Feel their pain, their sadness, their fear. Really be with them.
As you exhale, imagine that you are breathing out love and compassion, for your loved one, for yourself, for everyone else in the world who is suffering.
Feel youself letting go of the helplessness and accepting what is, all wrapped up in loving kindness.
This is a powerful way to join together when words and actions are not enough. When you are away from each other, you can imagine that you are breathing together and achieve the same results.
Sit near the person you are caring for and watch them breathe. Try to breathe in rhythm with them -- inhale when they inhale, exhale when they exhale.
As you inhale, imagine that you are suffering along with them. Feel their pain, their sadness, their fear. Really be with them.
As you exhale, imagine that you are breathing out love and compassion, for your loved one, for yourself, for everyone else in the world who is suffering.
Feel youself letting go of the helplessness and accepting what is, all wrapped up in loving kindness.
This is a powerful way to join together when words and actions are not enough. When you are away from each other, you can imagine that you are breathing together and achieve the same results.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Dancing around that feeling of rawness... or trying to
When you are involved in being a caregiver, it brings up a lot of feelings. Some of these feelings are exhilerating as you experience the joy of giving unconditionally and experiencing the results of love in action. Other feelings are, to say the least challenging, the sadness of watching a loved one struggling, along with some of the frustrations that go along with making sacrifices.
I think it is safe to say that caregiving can leave you with a lot of raw feelings, regardless of attempts to push feelings away and forge on with the daily responsibilities of caring for someone else while trying to keep your own life afloat. On some days, you can keep those raw feelings successfully in the background, maybe by staying busy, or telling yourself you aren't going to let yourself get upset by anything. "I can handle this!" But then the moment sneaks up on you. An image of your loved one, what is, or what used to be, gets in the way. You hear a song or see someone in an activity that you used to enjoy together. You walk by a favorite restaurant. Suddenly, those darned feelings -- sadness, loss, fear -- get in the way. Your life and the life of your loved one, won't be the same, at least not for awhile.
Don't fight your feelings. Take some time and sit with those raw feelings. Let them happen. The irony is that we only give our feelings the power to control us when we try to keep them in a cage.
I think it is safe to say that caregiving can leave you with a lot of raw feelings, regardless of attempts to push feelings away and forge on with the daily responsibilities of caring for someone else while trying to keep your own life afloat. On some days, you can keep those raw feelings successfully in the background, maybe by staying busy, or telling yourself you aren't going to let yourself get upset by anything. "I can handle this!" But then the moment sneaks up on you. An image of your loved one, what is, or what used to be, gets in the way. You hear a song or see someone in an activity that you used to enjoy together. You walk by a favorite restaurant. Suddenly, those darned feelings -- sadness, loss, fear -- get in the way. Your life and the life of your loved one, won't be the same, at least not for awhile.
Don't fight your feelings. Take some time and sit with those raw feelings. Let them happen. The irony is that we only give our feelings the power to control us when we try to keep them in a cage.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Space
Now that my mom has passed, I am continuing to learn about what it means to be a caregiver.
What I am realizing is that caregiving can expand to the point that it becomes a major focus, if not the main focus, in your life. I realize now that most of my emotional energy went in to taking care of my mother -- multiple conversations every day, watching over her healthcare providers, making sure her daily needs were met, making arrangements to travel to see her. The rest of my life went on cruuise control, at best, while I focused on her. It's what I needed to do at the time.
But I am seeing this big gap in my life. The focus -- her -- is gone. Each day is left with empty spaces that used to be filled by her needs.
I am not crying victim and saying that this is all insurmountable. From a zen perspective, my goal is not really a goal, but simply to accept not having a focus, not knowing. I am sitting with the emptiness and not forcing myself, or anyone else, to fill it. Some days this feels easier than others.
What I am realizing is that caregiving can expand to the point that it becomes a major focus, if not the main focus, in your life. I realize now that most of my emotional energy went in to taking care of my mother -- multiple conversations every day, watching over her healthcare providers, making sure her daily needs were met, making arrangements to travel to see her. The rest of my life went on cruuise control, at best, while I focused on her. It's what I needed to do at the time.
But I am seeing this big gap in my life. The focus -- her -- is gone. Each day is left with empty spaces that used to be filled by her needs.
I am not crying victim and saying that this is all insurmountable. From a zen perspective, my goal is not really a goal, but simply to accept not having a focus, not knowing. I am sitting with the emptiness and not forcing myself, or anyone else, to fill it. Some days this feels easier than others.
Monday, August 2, 2010
In retrospect...
My mom passed away on July 21. I went back over some of my blog postings during one of those many moments when I can't help but wonder what I could have done differently, mostly what I could have done better.
I had wanted to chronicle what was going on in my life as I was was being her caregiver. But by the time I started the blog, she was in that stage where she was declining so rapidly that the blog really became more about watching her move toward death, and being her companion on that journey, than it was about being a caregiver. I was standing by as others did the caregiving while I did the handholding and hollow cheerleading. "Come on Mom, looking how you are fighting that infection" became "Are you comfortable, Mom? Won't you try to eat a little more strawberry yogurt?"
I guess I could say I was in the stage of caregiving that I had been dreading for 26 months, but knew I would someday face.
I can also say that being able to use mindfulness techniques, to sit with my emotions and not have to run away from them, to be able to be wholly present with her, was a what helped me to get through what was, in the end, could have been a traumatic experience. Death is primitive, regardless of the circumstances. The pain hasn't gone away, but I am demanding that it go away. I feel my pain, and I feel the pain of others who are suffering a great loss.
I discovered a whole group of individuals who have also lost their parents. They have reached out to help if I need them.
And I have become that much more sensitive to what my clients are going through as they face the challenges of caregiving and loss. I hope that my experience will help me to be that much more present with them.
Thanks, Mom.
I had wanted to chronicle what was going on in my life as I was was being her caregiver. But by the time I started the blog, she was in that stage where she was declining so rapidly that the blog really became more about watching her move toward death, and being her companion on that journey, than it was about being a caregiver. I was standing by as others did the caregiving while I did the handholding and hollow cheerleading. "Come on Mom, looking how you are fighting that infection" became "Are you comfortable, Mom? Won't you try to eat a little more strawberry yogurt?"
I guess I could say I was in the stage of caregiving that I had been dreading for 26 months, but knew I would someday face.
I can also say that being able to use mindfulness techniques, to sit with my emotions and not have to run away from them, to be able to be wholly present with her, was a what helped me to get through what was, in the end, could have been a traumatic experience. Death is primitive, regardless of the circumstances. The pain hasn't gone away, but I am demanding that it go away. I feel my pain, and I feel the pain of others who are suffering a great loss.
I discovered a whole group of individuals who have also lost their parents. They have reached out to help if I need them.
And I have become that much more sensitive to what my clients are going through as they face the challenges of caregiving and loss. I hope that my experience will help me to be that much more present with them.
Thanks, Mom.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Dreading
I am dreading going to visit my mom this weekend. This may be the end. I want to spend as much time with her as possible, what I used to hope would be quality time is now just time sitting with her, hoping she will eat or drink, making sure she is not in too much pain.
I remind myself that we only have this moment. It is a moment when I can be with her. I am not sure if she will know that it is me that is with her, if she will even be aware that anyone is there.
But somehow I think that she will know that she is loved.
I would like to put this trip off for another day or two, or more, but I know I can't.
I remind myself that we only have this moment. It is a moment when I can be with her. I am not sure if she will know that it is me that is with her, if she will even be aware that anyone is there.
But somehow I think that she will know that she is loved.
I would like to put this trip off for another day or two, or more, but I know I can't.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Ready
I have a counseling client who is around 65 years old, and has a companion who is older. She is active, still working, while he is experiencing health problems and is not longer active. They are planning to be married soon.
As she described their interactions, and how she watches over him, even trying to spare him any stress that might have a negative effect on his health, I thought about her selflessness. This is a man who has been there for her for many years, the have a history together. She knows that he will most likely need more and more of her time in the near future. In her words, she is 'ready' for whatever the future holds. She loves him, enjoys every moment with him, and wants to make sure that she will be able to care for him and, as needed, make decisions for him, in the future.
And I couldn't help but think about my own situation, helping to care for my mother. I had to ask myself, in spite of the challenges, would you make any other choice but to be there for her?
As she described their interactions, and how she watches over him, even trying to spare him any stress that might have a negative effect on his health, I thought about her selflessness. This is a man who has been there for her for many years, the have a history together. She knows that he will most likely need more and more of her time in the near future. In her words, she is 'ready' for whatever the future holds. She loves him, enjoys every moment with him, and wants to make sure that she will be able to care for him and, as needed, make decisions for him, in the future.
And I couldn't help but think about my own situation, helping to care for my mother. I had to ask myself, in spite of the challenges, would you make any other choice but to be there for her?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
as good as it gets
When I watched my mom sleeping last week, I told myself that this moment is as good as it gets. I put aside any assumptions that she was going to be able to speak, feed herself, stand up. It isn't that I have given up all hope. But I was able to accept that this is the current moment, her and I in that room, me knowing that I am doing everything I can do to be present with her, and her at least aware that I am there.
She has been very dehydrated. I gently woke her long enough to coax her to drink some ice water through a straw. She took a few sips and smiled at me. I smiled back.
Happy to have this moment.
She has been very dehydrated. I gently woke her long enough to coax her to drink some ice water through a straw. She took a few sips and smiled at me. I smiled back.
Happy to have this moment.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Watching
I feel like I do a lot of watching these days. Today I am watching my mom. Watching her do what, I'm not sure. I have been by her bedside for four days at this point. She doesn't talk much at this point, mostly cries out of frustration, grief, discomfort. I don't think she will be here much longer and if she has to live like this, why would I want her to stick around?
What am I focusing on is being thankful that I can at least be here these few days, sit with her, beg her to eat and drink, hold her hand. We only have this moment, maybe few ahead of us, I don't know.
She is on a new pain medication. She dozes a lot, sometimes snores like a fieldhand, then wakes up. She look surprised to see me, maybe wondering why I am hanging around, wondering how she and I got into this situation.
What am I focusing on is being thankful that I can at least be here these few days, sit with her, beg her to eat and drink, hold her hand. We only have this moment, maybe few ahead of us, I don't know.
She is on a new pain medication. She dozes a lot, sometimes snores like a fieldhand, then wakes up. She look surprised to see me, maybe wondering why I am hanging around, wondering how she and I got into this situation.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
compassion fatigue
Terms like 'compassion fatigue' are just academic until you actually experience it yourself. I felt it last weekend.
I sat with my mom for three days and basically watched her cry the whole time, with few breaks her and there (mainly when she was taking naps). She is miserable, uncomfortable, depressed. I know she can't help it. At this point, she has no emotional resilience at all. She even cried when her lunch arrived and she didn't see the iced tea.
As a caregiver, after sitting with someone who is feeling that way, hour after hour, and then returning home and hearing the same thing over the telephone, responding becomes more and more difficult. You run out of words. Your own energy gets depleted. You're exhausted. At least I was.
I had to remind myself that she is doing the best she can under these circumstances. I can at least leave the room at some point and go back to my own home, but my mom doesn't get to leave the room, or her own broken down body. No breaks for her.
And I reminded myself that this is life as it is right now, not as I would wish it to be. And this is my job right now. I wouldn't want it to be any other way. Whether or not I am 'feeling it.' One foot in front of the other. In that way, being with her is a form of practice, listening, being present, but not judging.
I sat with my mom for three days and basically watched her cry the whole time, with few breaks her and there (mainly when she was taking naps). She is miserable, uncomfortable, depressed. I know she can't help it. At this point, she has no emotional resilience at all. She even cried when her lunch arrived and she didn't see the iced tea.
As a caregiver, after sitting with someone who is feeling that way, hour after hour, and then returning home and hearing the same thing over the telephone, responding becomes more and more difficult. You run out of words. Your own energy gets depleted. You're exhausted. At least I was.
I had to remind myself that she is doing the best she can under these circumstances. I can at least leave the room at some point and go back to my own home, but my mom doesn't get to leave the room, or her own broken down body. No breaks for her.
And I reminded myself that this is life as it is right now, not as I would wish it to be. And this is my job right now. I wouldn't want it to be any other way. Whether or not I am 'feeling it.' One foot in front of the other. In that way, being with her is a form of practice, listening, being present, but not judging.
Monday, June 7, 2010
speakerphone meltdown
I spent three days with my mom over the weekend and I had a meltdown. I admit it.
She basically cried for three days. She didn't feel good, her pressure sore was giving her fits, she wanted to be young and energetic and walk and run and have control of her life again. She didn't admit to the last part but I could see it in her eyes. She is pitiful when she cries, and it makes me feel so incredibly helpless.
But I was also angry at her for making me feel this way, in spite of all of my mental health training which tells me that nobody 'makes' me feel any way, and that I am feeling as helpless as she is, and that my anger is a reaction to that helplessness. Other than catching myself before I got a little short with her at times, what was I supposed to do with all of this anger?
We set my mom up with a speakerphone with big buttons, since she has trouble handling the receiver. It never worked well, and she spilled milk all over it anyway. I bought another one, knowing that it would suck but not finding any alternatives in my Web shopping.
The new one was set up and I realized that was even less effective from the milk-impaired version that it replaced. I tried to use it and it wasn't picking up my voice at all. Boom. The camel's back was broken. I yelled at the phone and managed to hold myself back from throwing it against the wall. My mom sat and watched me, in silence, as as I had my tantrum.
And then I realized what I was raging against. I would be calling my mom from NYC and we wouldn't be able to communicate. She might hear me but she wouldn't be able to answer back. Someday I might call out to her and I won't know if she hears me or not but I know that she won't be able to answer back. Ever.
My brother suggested we hit a discount store to look for another one. We found one that actually works. I can still check in with Mom, for now.
She basically cried for three days. She didn't feel good, her pressure sore was giving her fits, she wanted to be young and energetic and walk and run and have control of her life again. She didn't admit to the last part but I could see it in her eyes. She is pitiful when she cries, and it makes me feel so incredibly helpless.
But I was also angry at her for making me feel this way, in spite of all of my mental health training which tells me that nobody 'makes' me feel any way, and that I am feeling as helpless as she is, and that my anger is a reaction to that helplessness. Other than catching myself before I got a little short with her at times, what was I supposed to do with all of this anger?
We set my mom up with a speakerphone with big buttons, since she has trouble handling the receiver. It never worked well, and she spilled milk all over it anyway. I bought another one, knowing that it would suck but not finding any alternatives in my Web shopping.
The new one was set up and I realized that was even less effective from the milk-impaired version that it replaced. I tried to use it and it wasn't picking up my voice at all. Boom. The camel's back was broken. I yelled at the phone and managed to hold myself back from throwing it against the wall. My mom sat and watched me, in silence, as as I had my tantrum.
And then I realized what I was raging against. I would be calling my mom from NYC and we wouldn't be able to communicate. She might hear me but she wouldn't be able to answer back. Someday I might call out to her and I won't know if she hears me or not but I know that she won't be able to answer back. Ever.
My brother suggested we hit a discount store to look for another one. We found one that actually works. I can still check in with Mom, for now.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Helplessness, part 1
I am referring this posting as helplessness,part 1 because when you are in a caregiving situation, helplessness is that elephant in the room that never seems to lumber off into another room. "Go bug somebody else."
Helplessness is when you sit and you watch somebody you love suffering and because they are suffering, so are you, but you can't make it go away. You can't fix them and you can't make the people who are supposed be fixing them work any faster or smarter. At some point, you might even have to admit that they are going south on you, not getting better and probably getting worse.
Helplessness makes you blow up at something stupid like a nurse's aide who sounds a little grouchy and gives an order rather than making a request. All of a sudden, that person becomes the cause of all of the pain in the world, or at least your pain, and all you want to do is make them feel as bad as you do.
You blow up and it helps, at least for the moment. Then you feel worse the next day, and guilty because you went off on someone. And more helpless.
Helplessness is when you sit and you watch somebody you love suffering and because they are suffering, so are you, but you can't make it go away. You can't fix them and you can't make the people who are supposed be fixing them work any faster or smarter. At some point, you might even have to admit that they are going south on you, not getting better and probably getting worse.
Helplessness makes you blow up at something stupid like a nurse's aide who sounds a little grouchy and gives an order rather than making a request. All of a sudden, that person becomes the cause of all of the pain in the world, or at least your pain, and all you want to do is make them feel as bad as you do.
You blow up and it helps, at least for the moment. Then you feel worse the next day, and guilty because you went off on someone. And more helpless.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Just doing
If I were going to write a theme for this day, the first day of Memorial Day weekend, I would say it is a get through it day.
Mom is going to be sitting in her apartment all day suffering with the pressure sore on her butt that never seems to stop being sore. All of the trips to the bathroom (AKA the 'commode' sitting two feet away from her), followed by all the wiping and washing, followed by more chafing, don't help.
I am so used to hearing her complaints and tears that on some days, like today, this all becomes 'information.' I am temporarily drained of the ability to have an emotional response. The human side of me wants to come up with a reason for this pressure sore problem. Who is at fault? Did she sit too much back when she was able to stand and even walk? Did somebody -- maybe even me -- not push her hard enough? Was it not treated aggressively enough when it first developed.
Or maybe this is the next step in the journey. Today, I'm too drained to do anything more than do my duty and monitor her, and listen, and just keep doing.
Mom is going to be sitting in her apartment all day suffering with the pressure sore on her butt that never seems to stop being sore. All of the trips to the bathroom (AKA the 'commode' sitting two feet away from her), followed by all the wiping and washing, followed by more chafing, don't help.
I am so used to hearing her complaints and tears that on some days, like today, this all becomes 'information.' I am temporarily drained of the ability to have an emotional response. The human side of me wants to come up with a reason for this pressure sore problem. Who is at fault? Did she sit too much back when she was able to stand and even walk? Did somebody -- maybe even me -- not push her hard enough? Was it not treated aggressively enough when it first developed.
Or maybe this is the next step in the journey. Today, I'm too drained to do anything more than do my duty and monitor her, and listen, and just keep doing.
Friday, May 21, 2010
watching myself
Sometimes it helps me to stand back and watch my reactions as if I was holding a video camera.
This morning, my mom was crying because the nurse's aide didn't bring her any coffee for breakfast. Between my mom's tears, and my immediate rush of frustration at yet again hearing something that I can't do anything about, I could see that already my day was not getting off to a positive start. I asked my mom why she didn't tell the nurse's aide that she needed coffee. I mean, come on. I had to hold back on not asking this question with an edge in my voice. After all, my mom forgets things, and she doesn't need me jumping on her.
At the same time, I realized that, three days running, the home health service hasn't called me back to tell me how her pressure sore is looking, if it is healing at all.
No, not a good way to start the day. I took a mental step back and watched myself, this guy standing in the middle of his apartment trying to have a conversation with his mom, who has trouble making herself heard over the phone, and feeling the weight of the world, or at least his world, on his shoulders. I also saw a guy who is trying to do his best, but isn't in control, and can't make everything perfect.
I took a few deep breaths. No, I didn't hyperventilate. I told my mom I would ask the facility to remind the nurse's aides that she needs coffee in the morning, and gently reminded my mom that she can ask for what she needs. And I'll call the home health care service again. They are doing the best job they can do, too.
This morning, my mom was crying because the nurse's aide didn't bring her any coffee for breakfast. Between my mom's tears, and my immediate rush of frustration at yet again hearing something that I can't do anything about, I could see that already my day was not getting off to a positive start. I asked my mom why she didn't tell the nurse's aide that she needed coffee. I mean, come on. I had to hold back on not asking this question with an edge in my voice. After all, my mom forgets things, and she doesn't need me jumping on her.
At the same time, I realized that, three days running, the home health service hasn't called me back to tell me how her pressure sore is looking, if it is healing at all.
No, not a good way to start the day. I took a mental step back and watched myself, this guy standing in the middle of his apartment trying to have a conversation with his mom, who has trouble making herself heard over the phone, and feeling the weight of the world, or at least his world, on his shoulders. I also saw a guy who is trying to do his best, but isn't in control, and can't make everything perfect.
I took a few deep breaths. No, I didn't hyperventilate. I told my mom I would ask the facility to remind the nurse's aides that she needs coffee in the morning, and gently reminded my mom that she can ask for what she needs. And I'll call the home health care service again. They are doing the best job they can do, too.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Who's in charge?
When you're caring for someone, things come up that really piss you off. They don't respond to something that you've done for them. Or the respond by complaining. The people who shold also be helping let you down. Or just when you think you have everything under control, something else goes wrong.
One of the most important lessons from these situations is that, while somebody should be in control -- hopefully you as the caregiver -- nobody is in control. The randomness of life, which brought this situation into the life of your loved one and, in turn, into your life, goes on. On and on and on with the randomness. If you think you can stop what's going on, or otherwise fix it, you're gonna stay pissed off.
I remind myself over and over that I'm not in control. I don't always like to be reminded of this.
And I comfort myself by reminding myself that I don't have to be in control.
I try to take each day as it comes, and put out each fire the best way that I can. And since I don't have to be in control, I also try to enlist others to help out.
Today, before I comforted myself with the reminder that I don't have to control everything, I released the F bomb into the universe a few times. That, too, was comforting.
One of the most important lessons from these situations is that, while somebody should be in control -- hopefully you as the caregiver -- nobody is in control. The randomness of life, which brought this situation into the life of your loved one and, in turn, into your life, goes on. On and on and on with the randomness. If you think you can stop what's going on, or otherwise fix it, you're gonna stay pissed off.
I remind myself over and over that I'm not in control. I don't always like to be reminded of this.
And I comfort myself by reminding myself that I don't have to be in control.
I try to take each day as it comes, and put out each fire the best way that I can. And since I don't have to be in control, I also try to enlist others to help out.
Today, before I comforted myself with the reminder that I don't have to control everything, I released the F bomb into the universe a few times. That, too, was comforting.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Launching Zencaregiving
If I wasn't so exhausted, I would try to write something really eloquent and glib. But it is Sunday night, I am trying to catch up on all of the work that I didn't get to do this weekend because I was taking care of my mom.
But nevertheless, it is May 16, 2010 and I am officially launching Zencaregiving, my blog. Hopefully, this will soon be followed by a very scaled down Website... you guessed it... zencaregiving.com.
But like I said, I am physically and especially, emotionally, drained after the weekend. Someone said, 'I don't know how you do it.' And I answered that I don't think about how I do it, I just do it. There are no heroes here. We do what we do for someone we love.
Somebody else said (and I am so tired of this phrase): 'It is what it is.' It made me wonder how so many people suddenly became Zen Buddhists and don't even know it and certainly wouldn't want to hear it. It is what it is, and it's what we wish it wasn't but it is.
More papers to grade, miles to go before I sleep.
But nevertheless, it is May 16, 2010 and I am officially launching Zencaregiving, my blog. Hopefully, this will soon be followed by a very scaled down Website... you guessed it... zencaregiving.com.
But like I said, I am physically and especially, emotionally, drained after the weekend. Someone said, 'I don't know how you do it.' And I answered that I don't think about how I do it, I just do it. There are no heroes here. We do what we do for someone we love.
Somebody else said (and I am so tired of this phrase): 'It is what it is.' It made me wonder how so many people suddenly became Zen Buddhists and don't even know it and certainly wouldn't want to hear it. It is what it is, and it's what we wish it wasn't but it is.
More papers to grade, miles to go before I sleep.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
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