Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Thought I'd touch base...[WARNING: Stream of Consciousness Ahead; Caution: Flash Floods]
...although I'm too mellow to report much right now. I'm remembering, though, why I liked practicing the daily habit of journaling about Mom & Me. It was therapeutic, gently and cryptically, yes, but therapeutic.
Today's been close to a roller coaster day, which I haven't had in ages, tempered at the last minute this morning when I remembered to stoke myself with herbs. I've been so focused over the last few days on needing to pull myself away [that natural and voracious need of mine for alone time, which, technically, hasn't been satisfied since, hmmm, 1997] and trying to figure out how to do that without leaving my mother unprotected or feeling rejected. Regarding the herbs: I still feel the need for alone time but on the herbs it doesn't drive me crazy and I don't become anxious about the possibility of never having any alone time again in my life. Off the herbs, though, the need can quickly surface to the point of becoming consuming. My menopausal status dramatizes whatever I am going through. I'm not bothered that it does. I've learned a lot from this. But there are times when a caregiver needs to pull back on personal drama, sometimes for long periods of time. Today, though, began flat, rough around the edges, then began to fray toward the middle. At one point right after I remembered and took my pills I tearfully (for less than a minute) confessed to my mother that I had, over the last few days, found myself ravenous for alone time. I explained that knowing there is no way to secure true alone time, I've been pulling back into myself in order to approximate alone time. I confessed to her that this was why I'd finally given up a few days ago and let her sleep [almost] all she wanted (making sure I maintained safe hydration, nutrition, blood glucose, iron, oxygen, anti-inflammatory and cleanliness levels): Because, although I have grave fears about the possibly deleterious effects on her back's healing curve if she stays in bed for, yet again, three more days out of seven, I so desperately needed something like alone time that I stopped fighting her desire to sleep. I apologized, too, for having been only a perfunctory companion, both as a caregiver and a relative, to someone who is featured in my entire history and is someone for whom I have a profound and unspeakable love. Within an hour the herbs took effect and the intermittent sobbing stopped. An hour later I was suggesting we finish off a hotly wagered game of Sorry we'd preserved from two days ago when it was interrupted by a phone call or a visit or something. I relaxed as I did her hair (today was the full meal deal: Wash, set and style). For reasons I will mention later, her appointment went very well for both of us.
I began to feel a bit of a tug for alone time this afternoon but was so elated that she didn't want a nap and was walking around so independently it seemed as though it was, once again, autonomic, that I ignored my pang, sucked it in and vowed to enjoy her company, which I did. We had another Sorry tournament which we froze at a four game tie. It will continue tomorrow.
It's interesting: My mother was not surprised by what probably sounds to most people like an extravagantly emotional confession. I could see from her expression that she was taking it in stride, maybe wondering why I hadn't had a problem until now. She is the one who saw to it that of all her children I had a bedroom of my own: "Because [I] needed it," she told me when I asked her, deep into a lustily solitarily-lived adulthood. Her explanation made sense to me. I'll bet I exhibited my need for alone time early and awkwardly. Anyway, I noticed throughout the today that she began to naturally pick up some of the slack for entertaining herself, knowing that I was parched for a chance to entertain myself alone. My mother is better than average at entertaining herself but not nearly as good at it as I am. She certainly does not prefer to entertain herself. So, watching her look for things to do, voice opinions, read with obvious concentration, make decisions about when she was hungry and when she needed to go to the bathroom, I was blown away realizing that simply by admitting the difficulty I was having (and remembering to take my herbs) it diminished, not only at my hands but with the help of someone else.
Over the last few days I've given up in so many ways, many of which I have not been proud. I finally lost the energy on some of the issues on which I thought I'd never lose energy, the most important of which is sleeping, which is so akin to death as to seem dangerous at my mother's age in the amounts in which she's lately been indulging it. Today, in a strangely convoluted way, I'm beginning to see that me giving up was a good thing: One of those lessons that caregivers are taught by circumstance over and over again. It's a good thing because none of us goes gentle into that good giving up night.
My mother fucking amazes me. I fucking amaze myself, doing what I'm doing and doing it as well as I am. I can't believe how well I've adapted to this. At the same time I was not thrown into an advanced level of caregiving with someone who is virtually a stranger. I had 9+ years to work myself up to being able to take care of my mother under the excrutiatingly (not always unpleasantly so) intense circumstances since October 25, 2003. I've faltered lately...it's been a long haul. And the smell of pee...oh well. At least she's hydrated enough to pee prodigiously. But today went from grim to gracious and satisfying. I've never not been glad I am here but, tonight, I'm thinking, in words, "I'm glad I'm doing this. I'm glad I'm here."
Later.
Today's been close to a roller coaster day, which I haven't had in ages, tempered at the last minute this morning when I remembered to stoke myself with herbs. I've been so focused over the last few days on needing to pull myself away [that natural and voracious need of mine for alone time, which, technically, hasn't been satisfied since, hmmm, 1997] and trying to figure out how to do that without leaving my mother unprotected or feeling rejected. Regarding the herbs: I still feel the need for alone time but on the herbs it doesn't drive me crazy and I don't become anxious about the possibility of never having any alone time again in my life. Off the herbs, though, the need can quickly surface to the point of becoming consuming. My menopausal status dramatizes whatever I am going through. I'm not bothered that it does. I've learned a lot from this. But there are times when a caregiver needs to pull back on personal drama, sometimes for long periods of time. Today, though, began flat, rough around the edges, then began to fray toward the middle. At one point right after I remembered and took my pills I tearfully (for less than a minute) confessed to my mother that I had, over the last few days, found myself ravenous for alone time. I explained that knowing there is no way to secure true alone time, I've been pulling back into myself in order to approximate alone time. I confessed to her that this was why I'd finally given up a few days ago and let her sleep [almost] all she wanted (making sure I maintained safe hydration, nutrition, blood glucose, iron, oxygen, anti-inflammatory and cleanliness levels): Because, although I have grave fears about the possibly deleterious effects on her back's healing curve if she stays in bed for, yet again, three more days out of seven, I so desperately needed something like alone time that I stopped fighting her desire to sleep. I apologized, too, for having been only a perfunctory companion, both as a caregiver and a relative, to someone who is featured in my entire history and is someone for whom I have a profound and unspeakable love. Within an hour the herbs took effect and the intermittent sobbing stopped. An hour later I was suggesting we finish off a hotly wagered game of Sorry we'd preserved from two days ago when it was interrupted by a phone call or a visit or something. I relaxed as I did her hair (today was the full meal deal: Wash, set and style). For reasons I will mention later, her appointment went very well for both of us.
I began to feel a bit of a tug for alone time this afternoon but was so elated that she didn't want a nap and was walking around so independently it seemed as though it was, once again, autonomic, that I ignored my pang, sucked it in and vowed to enjoy her company, which I did. We had another Sorry tournament which we froze at a four game tie. It will continue tomorrow.
It's interesting: My mother was not surprised by what probably sounds to most people like an extravagantly emotional confession. I could see from her expression that she was taking it in stride, maybe wondering why I hadn't had a problem until now. She is the one who saw to it that of all her children I had a bedroom of my own: "Because [I] needed it," she told me when I asked her, deep into a lustily solitarily-lived adulthood. Her explanation made sense to me. I'll bet I exhibited my need for alone time early and awkwardly. Anyway, I noticed throughout the today that she began to naturally pick up some of the slack for entertaining herself, knowing that I was parched for a chance to entertain myself alone. My mother is better than average at entertaining herself but not nearly as good at it as I am. She certainly does not prefer to entertain herself. So, watching her look for things to do, voice opinions, read with obvious concentration, make decisions about when she was hungry and when she needed to go to the bathroom, I was blown away realizing that simply by admitting the difficulty I was having (and remembering to take my herbs) it diminished, not only at my hands but with the help of someone else.
Over the last few days I've given up in so many ways, many of which I have not been proud. I finally lost the energy on some of the issues on which I thought I'd never lose energy, the most important of which is sleeping, which is so akin to death as to seem dangerous at my mother's age in the amounts in which she's lately been indulging it. Today, in a strangely convoluted way, I'm beginning to see that me giving up was a good thing: One of those lessons that caregivers are taught by circumstance over and over again. It's a good thing because none of us goes gentle into that good giving up night.
My mother fucking amazes me. I fucking amaze myself, doing what I'm doing and doing it as well as I am. I can't believe how well I've adapted to this. At the same time I was not thrown into an advanced level of caregiving with someone who is virtually a stranger. I had 9+ years to work myself up to being able to take care of my mother under the excrutiatingly (not always unpleasantly so) intense circumstances since October 25, 2003. I've faltered lately...it's been a long haul. And the smell of pee...oh well. At least she's hydrated enough to pee prodigiously. But today went from grim to gracious and satisfying. I've never not been glad I am here but, tonight, I'm thinking, in words, "I'm glad I'm doing this. I'm glad I'm here."
Later.
