The Caregiver Chronicles

The joy of taking a break

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.

Henry David Thoreau

         Joy (Wikicommons)

 

Right now, at this moment, life is good. I'm sitting in the hospital coffee shop writing this, drinking coffee, and listening to some not bad music on the sound system. Hendrix was just on and before that the Blues, which I love. Before starting this posting, I ate a cannoli, a delectable treat that I've been resisting for the six days I've been here. But now seemed the time. For the moment, my mother's condition is stable, my father is with her, and they have my cell number. And so I'm enjoying the longest stretch of free time that I've had in days. I don't really count nighttime, when I go home to sleep, because I'm too exhausted to do much more than that: sleep. Most other days, I've been waiting to speak to the attending doctor or get test results or - like last night, waiting for my Mom's pain meds to arrive and keeping her calm while she waited. 

Today, I thought I had it made and so I went downstairs to get lunch in the cafeteria. It's Martin Luther King, Jr. Day today and so I was thinking, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty [I'm] . . .  free at last," under my breath and smiling. I selected a grilled pork chop, mashed sweet potatoes, and green beans. It looked great. I chose a table and - I swear - no sooner had I cut into a pork chop and taken one bite when my cell rang. It was my mother's nurse who was calling to tell me the attending doctor had dropped in. I am sure that doctors have one of those maps like the one in Harry Potter where you can see the position of everyone in the building and the minute family members leave the room, they swoop down out of nowhere. Seriously, that has happened all too often. This time, though, I knew that my mom's vital signs looked good, my dad was with her, and so I took a deep breath and told the nurse, "You know what? I'm eating and I'm sure my parents will be fine. If they miss some things, I'll check with you later or even have you page the attending." I'm proud of myself. My sister has been reminding me to take time for myself. So I am and it feels good.

As more than one person has said, caregiving is a "marathon not a sprint," and the caregiver needs to take care of themselves or, as someone else said, "they won't finish the race." Anyone caregiving, either full time or part time, needs to keep that in mind. I know that, speaking for myself, it can be difficult to relinquish control because both of my parents have cognitive decline and often don't completely understand what the doctors and nurses tell them. Even worse, they belong to that generation of people for whom the doctor is God. They only rarely ask questions and tend to take the doctor's conclusions or recommendations as law. And, to make matters worse, things have definitely gone wrong when I leave my mom's room for too long. Tests ordered that shouldn't have been done, too many pain medications given, not enough, on and on. But I am working on letting go because all caregivers need to take a break and I knew that I was in need of one today and so I took it. 

For more ideas, take a look at the book Simply Relax. 

If you don't have time to go out to relax, listen to the song below, settle into your recliner or less comfortable chair and take a mental relaxation break.  We all need them.

 

 

 

The Lovebirds - my parents after 59 years together

Hey good lookin'

Whatcha got cookin'?

How's about cookin' something up with me?

Hank Williams, Sr.

 

 This morning my Dad brought me up to the hospital before he went to church. He looked good in his suit and tie and, instead of dropping me off, he parked the car and came up with me. He didn't stay long and I'm not sure if it was just that he wanted to see Mom before he went to church or if he wanted her to see him looking good. Maybe both. Either way, it was a touching moment. My parents met more than 60 years ago and have been married for 59 years and and are still in love. They call each other Honey, tell each other that they love each other, and kiss each other good morning and good night most days. That's why I call them the lovebirds.

Their marriage has its ups and downs too. Last night, for example, before we left the hospital Dad was tired and in pain. He yelled at her about how she put the lid back on her chap stick and she pointed out that it was a silly thing to worry about chap stick considering the fact she was in the hospital with a fractured hip. They still kissed each other good night, but it was a less than congenial kiss. This morning, all was forgiven (or forgotten).

I doubt that when they first laid eyes on each other all those years ago, that they expected to be together for the rest of their lives. Mom was about to turn 18 and Dad was 19. Kids really. Dad was already working at the A & P and Mom was working at Kluck's A & W as a carhop. Soon, they were dating and when Dad received a draft notice to Korea they married. They eloped because it was a spur of the minute decision. Maybe Dad was worried that a woman as beautiful as my mother wouldn't still be available when he returned from Korea. They married in December, 1952 and I came along 11 months later.

            L to R: Uncle Neal, Mom, Dad, in front of my grandparents house, circa 1952

They are so heartbreakingly young in the picture above. Who could have imagined that someday Mom would have severe osteoarthritis and Dad would be her more-or-less full time caregiver. As one of my friends said when I showed her this picture and told her how my parents were now: "Old age sucks!" That vibrantly beautiful young woman has been in and out of the hospital more times than I like to think in the past 15 years. She has had every major joint replaced - hips, shoulders, knees. My dad has been by her side during everything:  surgery, recovery, displacements, and - now - a fractured hip. All of this has taken a toll on him, a fact that current research into health and marriage shows can often be the case.  

For a long time my parents were unwilling to accept much help. Then, they agreed to accept help from their children - 3 of whom don't live close-by. Now, my mother has a full time live-in caregiver. However, when she is in the hospital or a Rehab Center one of the children comes to help my dad out and be here in case of emergencies. And this may be one of the greatest gifts we have ever given them: the gift of being able to enjoy their last years together without Dad being exhausted as the sole caregiver for the woman he loves. 

The Greatest Love

She is sixty. She lives

the greatest love of her life.

 

She walks arm-in-arm with her dear one, 

her hair streams in the wind.

Her dear one says:

"You have hair like pearls."

 

Her children say:

"Old fool."

By Anna Swir 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photograph above: Couple in Paris (John Tokari, flickr)

More on male caregivers coming soon.  

 

Car Wars - adult children, aging parents, and their cars

It is a man's God-given right to drive alone in his car. . . . A man's car is his castle.

from Married with Children 

        Ford Focus (Wiki Commons)

I arrived in Detroit at 7:26 p.m. on Monday. My sister picked me up at the airport and then dropped me off at my parent's house. My dad was up and seemed happy to see me and wanted to tell me about everything that had been going on, most of which I already knew, but listened to anyway. Then, I ate a leftover piece of cheesecake, some fruit salad and went to bed and slept like a log. Too put it mildly, I was tired. I had come to Detroit via Phoenix because that was the connection I had. The first leg of the flight was fine. On the second leg - from Phoenix to Detroit - I was wedged in the last row of the plane in the window seat with no room too move. Thankfully, I don't have claustrophobia but it was such a tight fit that I dropped a pencil on the floor and I had to do some fancy contortions to pick it up. I wouldn't have bothered but I was doing crossword puzzles because that's what I had in my hand when the flight took off and it was too hard to try and get anything else out of my carry on. So, I worked on crossword puzzles for nearly four hours and could barely move to the point where I started having pains in my legs. So, a bed felt very, very good.

The next morning my sister and I went to breakfast at a place we both like because the service is good and the coffee is decent. We talked a bit about plans then drove over to see my mom. She was really happy to see me and held my hand a long time. She looked even smaller than when I saw her in June and older, of course. She was complaining about her pain and seemed disoriented. We visited about half an hour then, before my sister went home, she took me to do some shopping and buy a cell phone. When we got back to my parent's house the "car war " broke out. Innocently, I asked my dad if it would be okay if I used his car sometime while I was here. That's what I said. What he heard was: "When I'm here, I will treat your car like it's my car and take it whenever I want and you will be stuck in the house with no car." My father owns a nifty red Ford Focus that he is very attached to.  I might as well have suggested that I would be cutting off his legs or other analogies I won't go into here. "No one is going to use my car except me!" my dad said belligerently. "Well," I asked, "how will I get around when I'm  here?" "That's not my problem," he said. And it was downhill from there. Thankfully, my sister was there and, even though she didn't want to, she helped mediate a solution. I would use the car occasionally and ask in advance. It wouldn't be often and would fit in around my dad's schedule. And peace, of a sort, was restored.

If I had thought ahead, the conflict could have been avoided. I should have remembered how hyper-sensitive my dad had been in the spring when he couldn't drive because of back surgery. The first time I drove the car to the Rehab Center he was in, he interrogated me about the car. Where had I parked it? The parking lot. Which spot? They didn't have numbers. You've lost the car!!!  No, I haven't, I know where it is. Why can't I see it out the window?!  Because it's at the other end of the lot. And so it went. My dad has been driving for over 60 years and he's not ready to stop yet. I have to remind myself how important that independence and mobility is because I live in a city (Vancouver) where one doesn't need a car to get around and the city is set up so that older people can get most of what they need within a few blocks of their home. Ypsilanti is absolutely not like that and no car = trapped at home. That is often the case for elderly drivers in many parts of North America and, so, any hint of losing the right to drive can turn into a major conflict.

More later. Now, I have to get back to the main task of caregiving. I'm at Starbucks now and I'll take a cab to the Rehab facility. Sharing my dad's car may come later - or not. Time will tell. 

What kind of issues have you add around your aging parents and driving?