Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Thank the gods I surrendered
Yesterday, before my mother awoke, I was called to the house of a friend who I used to see a lot more than I do now...that is to say, I haven't seen her in a long, long time. She and I used to collaborate on several levels, not the least of which was a running conversation about our lives. For about a year our contact has dwindled. Within the last 6 months or so we haven't seen one another at all and have rarely talked. This has happened almost exclusively because of my involvement with my mother.
One of our avenues of contact has been her computer. Yesterday she needed to be checked out on how to access her number pad. Not remembering exactly what her keyboard looked like, I took a short trip to her house to figure out what it was she needed to know and teach it to her. It was an easy fix. Since I knew I had a few minutes before I needed to be back here, since both of us have missed the other I stayed to talk. As is usual with almost all my friends except two, a few sentences into our exchange, while I was once again explaining that my involvement with my mother was even more intense now than before, thus, I have chosen to put aside my involvement with others in order to do what I perceive to be justice to my involvement with my mother, she slipped into a refrain I often hear: Poor Gail, "you've given up your life" to take care of your mother.
I immediately took umbrage. "No I haven't," I said. "My life is a continuum. It was one way 10 years ago when I lived in Seattle. This is my life now." I added further [all of this is paraphrase from here on, but very close to what I actually said, the spirit of what I said being exactly represented]: "It's true that my life revolves around my mother's now. Thank the gods I allowed this to happen. If I hadn't I would not have been able to manage my mother's medical care the way I have. I wouldn't be able to get her through a day without her experiencing some bit of regret over that day. I wouldn't know all the seemingly insignificant details I need to know to keep her body, mind and soul running fairly close to the way she'd like them to run. The woman I was 10 years ago is nothing like the woman I am today and I'm glad."
I related my recent experience involving getting my mother out of bed in the morning, all of it, including my initial search for someone whom I could pay to do this, and my realization that I could do it myself.
"Surely you could have found some big guy who'd be able to do this for you."
As she named one of the organizations that I guessed I'd called and later, when I arrived home, noted that I had, I told her, funny, that's exactly what I'd thought. "I'm grateful that I was forced to negotiate this by myself. It changed my mother's and my relationship for the better. It added to my personal internal and external strength. In a curious way it deepened the bond between her and me, which is exactly what needed to happen at this point."
I went on to explain that surrender is how I work best. It's how I get the information I need to do what I need to do. It's how I'm able to perform at my peak. Lots of people appreciate this about me, the most appreciative of whom is probably my mother. Then, I went a step further. "You know," I declared, "I've come to realize that those people who are most likely to bemoan the life I lead now are those to whom I've become less available as I've needed to become more available to my mother."
"That's unfair," she said.
I agreed that maybe in her and my case she was right. But, I told her, I've made my choices, which I continue to make on a daily, sometimes an hourly basis. Those choices have made me who I am now. I am thrilled with the person I am and continue to become because of this journey and I'm noticing that the further these choices take me into caregiverhood, the less likely my friends and relatives are to make themselves available to me and my mother. The most important discovery I've made is that I can not only live with this but I'm not responsible for everyone else's refusal to understand and approve of my method of doing what I'm doing. If others can't figure out that what they valued in me when I was available to them is exactly what allows me to be so valuable to my mother at this point in her life, well, that's their problem, not mine.
She made a reference to "[my] writing", bemoaning the fact that I'm not doing this anymore. I countered, as I have before to her and others, "I am writing. Everyone knows where that writing is. If it isn't what others want to read, I'm not surprised." I went on to tell her about my viewing of The Maldonado Miracle and how I took offense at the portrayal of what was supposed to be the heroism of the silent, suffering caregiver. "Caregivers shouldn't be silent," I told her, "and they shouldn't be assumed to be suffering. I'm not suffering and I'm not silent, even though everyone else would like me to be because that's how caregivers are supposed to be. My feeling is, bullshit. This attitude is exactly why lots of caregivers can't find the help they need within their personal community of friends and relatives and end up dealing with the hazards involved in finding hired help. When I'm done with what I've chosen or been forced to do, I'm not going to walk away from these issues. Caregiving is about to become a completely different, much less isolated endeavor, precisely because I'm not going to be silent, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm suffering."
Her surprised response was that my attitude is "refreshing".
"You know," I told her as I left, "I'm not going to 'whistle a happy tune whenever I feel afraid'. I never learned how to whistle and, now, I'm glad I didn't."
Time to awaken Mom. Later.
One of our avenues of contact has been her computer. Yesterday she needed to be checked out on how to access her number pad. Not remembering exactly what her keyboard looked like, I took a short trip to her house to figure out what it was she needed to know and teach it to her. It was an easy fix. Since I knew I had a few minutes before I needed to be back here, since both of us have missed the other I stayed to talk. As is usual with almost all my friends except two, a few sentences into our exchange, while I was once again explaining that my involvement with my mother was even more intense now than before, thus, I have chosen to put aside my involvement with others in order to do what I perceive to be justice to my involvement with my mother, she slipped into a refrain I often hear: Poor Gail, "you've given up your life" to take care of your mother.
I immediately took umbrage. "No I haven't," I said. "My life is a continuum. It was one way 10 years ago when I lived in Seattle. This is my life now." I added further [all of this is paraphrase from here on, but very close to what I actually said, the spirit of what I said being exactly represented]: "It's true that my life revolves around my mother's now. Thank the gods I allowed this to happen. If I hadn't I would not have been able to manage my mother's medical care the way I have. I wouldn't be able to get her through a day without her experiencing some bit of regret over that day. I wouldn't know all the seemingly insignificant details I need to know to keep her body, mind and soul running fairly close to the way she'd like them to run. The woman I was 10 years ago is nothing like the woman I am today and I'm glad."
I related my recent experience involving getting my mother out of bed in the morning, all of it, including my initial search for someone whom I could pay to do this, and my realization that I could do it myself.
"Surely you could have found some big guy who'd be able to do this for you."
As she named one of the organizations that I guessed I'd called and later, when I arrived home, noted that I had, I told her, funny, that's exactly what I'd thought. "I'm grateful that I was forced to negotiate this by myself. It changed my mother's and my relationship for the better. It added to my personal internal and external strength. In a curious way it deepened the bond between her and me, which is exactly what needed to happen at this point."
I went on to explain that surrender is how I work best. It's how I get the information I need to do what I need to do. It's how I'm able to perform at my peak. Lots of people appreciate this about me, the most appreciative of whom is probably my mother. Then, I went a step further. "You know," I declared, "I've come to realize that those people who are most likely to bemoan the life I lead now are those to whom I've become less available as I've needed to become more available to my mother."
"That's unfair," she said.
I agreed that maybe in her and my case she was right. But, I told her, I've made my choices, which I continue to make on a daily, sometimes an hourly basis. Those choices have made me who I am now. I am thrilled with the person I am and continue to become because of this journey and I'm noticing that the further these choices take me into caregiverhood, the less likely my friends and relatives are to make themselves available to me and my mother. The most important discovery I've made is that I can not only live with this but I'm not responsible for everyone else's refusal to understand and approve of my method of doing what I'm doing. If others can't figure out that what they valued in me when I was available to them is exactly what allows me to be so valuable to my mother at this point in her life, well, that's their problem, not mine.
She made a reference to "[my] writing", bemoaning the fact that I'm not doing this anymore. I countered, as I have before to her and others, "I am writing. Everyone knows where that writing is. If it isn't what others want to read, I'm not surprised." I went on to tell her about my viewing of The Maldonado Miracle and how I took offense at the portrayal of what was supposed to be the heroism of the silent, suffering caregiver. "Caregivers shouldn't be silent," I told her, "and they shouldn't be assumed to be suffering. I'm not suffering and I'm not silent, even though everyone else would like me to be because that's how caregivers are supposed to be. My feeling is, bullshit. This attitude is exactly why lots of caregivers can't find the help they need within their personal community of friends and relatives and end up dealing with the hazards involved in finding hired help. When I'm done with what I've chosen or been forced to do, I'm not going to walk away from these issues. Caregiving is about to become a completely different, much less isolated endeavor, precisely because I'm not going to be silent, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm suffering."
Her surprised response was that my attitude is "refreshing".
"You know," I told her as I left, "I'm not going to 'whistle a happy tune whenever I feel afraid'. I never learned how to whistle and, now, I'm glad I didn't."
Time to awaken Mom. Later.
