Another week, another chance to experience the vicissitudes of the caregiving life: examples follow.
Monday: Mom suffered another incident of the mysterious coughing syndrome she’s developed in recent years. Often associated with eating or drinking and accompanied by sneezing, the syndrome has gone undiagnosed by medical professionals. She reported that Monday’s siege was the worst ever. The cure might have been a spoonful of frozen yogurt that seemed to have interrupted the spasms. Later, she spent nearly an hour phone-visiting with a Texas friend. The day was redeemed.
Tuesday: An alarming crash interrupted the sleep of the wee hours. Mom fell. She’s not seriously injured, but hurt and upset. Three Emergency Medical Technicians helped her back to bed. The cause of her fall has gone unexplained. She’d awakened to realize that her nightlight wasn’t on, walked in the dark toward the switch, and lost her footing. I reminded her that there’s a lamp and a flashlight within reach to either side of her bed. I asked her to wake me whenever she needs anything. Later, the health aide reported that all went well during our respite outing. Another day was redeemed.
Wednesday: Just as Spouse predicted, Mom felt worse on the day after her fall. Her back–and breathing–were especially affected. We worked to improve transferring skills: lying, sitting, standing, or walking from bed to commode to chair and back. I reiterated the need for her to request assistance before moving and reinforced our pain management routines: prescription and over-the-counter drugs, icing and massage, careful movement and positioning. She complied with the reinforced protocols. A third day was redeemed.
the year that was
Thursday: Mom continued “rehab” and Spouse celebrated his birthday. I made a couple of his favorite treats, as well as a collage commemorating highlights of the past year, the one that flew by–but took forever. I chose nine photos that suggested a surprisingly full year. That fullness created the strange sense of time that was simultaneously collapsed and expanded. Despite Mom’s (and Spouse’s) health challenges, it had been a year that proved beauty and freshness are still possible, even in this circumscribed life of at-home, long-term eldercare. Thanks to a few respite hours every week, Cape Cod continued to reveal happy surprises–and we continued to make progress on Mom’s affairs. We enjoyed reminiscing over the photos:
- Spouse standing in front of Mom’s house on the day it sold: that was less than a year ago!
- The bar off Chatham where we saw whales breaching and spouting in the Atlantic, Spouse’s arm may still be bruised where I grabbed it in excitement: the whales of August!
- The whimsical phone booth at a Barnstable marina, the Yarmouth refuge with a marshland vista, Spouse’s new favorite Bay beach in Eastham, Truro’s Highland Lighthouse deceptively brilliant on an extremely cold day, the Canal bridges from a mainland perspective in Bourne, the secluded Harwich cemetery where we learned of the young woman who died almost two centuries ago. Her marker recorded the length of her short life–to the day. Each day was obviously precious to… someone.
- The Wakeby Lake dock near Mom’s “investment property” in Sandwich, put on market last summer and sold this winter: that was just a few months ago! A fourth day was redeemed.
Friday: Mom fell again. This time, she was returning unattended(!) from her morning ablutions, got tired, and tried to sit in her “rollator” without setting the breaks, a not uncommon oversight on her part. Observing her condition, the EMTs decided a trip to the hospital was warranted. After x-rays determined there were no broken bones, she was released from the Emergency Room. She has more pain. This time, she responded by acting like nothing happened; she stopped requesting assistance. I sleep in the living room to be handy and to monitor her movements. Relief at her release from the hospital is matched by anxiety over her discomfort and safety: a challenging day.
Saturday: Mom persisted in behaving as though she hadn’t fallen three times in ten days. She and I need to discuss a return to assistance-seeking and safety protocols. Redemption is delayed.
Sometimes, the hardest part of the caregiving life is seeking compliance. We’ll try again tomorrow.
Cape Cod caregiver 
I extend to you my empathy as I have walked your walk, not knowing what end was up. Caregiving is brutal. Please remember to care for yourself. I recall, all too well, the falls; trying to enforce safety by my sheer strength of will; insisting on calls for assistance……all to little avail. It is a nightmare. I laugh, now, as I realized mom did have signs of dementia, which I failed to acknowledge, because mom told me she didn’t!! I wonder when my dementia wil be diagnosed! Take care if yourself. I hurt reading your missives, but you are reminding me of the walk I most certainly do not wish my daughter’s to take. Karen
Thank you, Karen, for your empathy–and sharing a bit of your own, similar experience. I appreciate you naming these experiences for what they can truly be: brutal and nightmarish. Like you, I hope to learn from all this and do what I can to minimize the impact on others of my own aging-related decline. Yet: as your advice implies, self-care is challenging for caregivers to manage. Oh, the irony! Caregiving makes so obvious the need for self-care, but makes so difficult the doing! Your mom’s self-diagnosis (and effort to reassure you?), and your wishing she was right, indicates so much about what the heart wants and needs in these circumstances.