Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Correction...
...to the following sentence, the last in the last post: "This is what intense caretaking, when done alone by necessity, eventually does to even the best of us." The correction is the addition of the salmon colored words: "This is what intense caretaking of our declining ones (who are not always Ancient Ones) eventually does to even the best of us."
You see, solitary, intense caretaking of children is often done by one of two parents, whether the parents are together or separated. While I don't believe this is the best of circumstances, the journey of that caregiving is quite different than what caregivers do for the declining and/or elderly. As the child grows to adulthood the giving becomes less and less intense. Despite our desire as a society (or, perhaps, as a species) to liken old age to childhood, the two are nothing alike. One is a gradual stretch into personal competence in life. The other is a gradual shrinking from personal competence in life. Normally, taking care of a child slowly releases both the child and the caregiver into their own lives. Taking care of an Ancient or Declining One slowly grips both the caregiver and the charge into a union which blurs the boundaries between the two people's lives. I am, for instance, now, not only the person whose arm my mother grips when she walks, I am her thirst, her appetite, so many of her bodily indicators upon which she can no longer rely. I am sometimes parts of her will, although she retains a great deal of this. I am also her interpreter, to not only others but to herself.
These are not tasks that someone can do continually well alone without occasional replenishment. I am not talking about pats on the back and words of admiration or gratitude. I am not even talking about vacations of hours or days from one's charge. I am talking about reliable, personally involved, personally aware comrades in arms. It would be a relief if I were not the only one who, at any particular moment, was assiduously tuning in to my mother's being to know whether she needs a glass of water, a change of underwear, a nap, a walk, a laugh, some mental stimulation, a leg massage, a meal, a bit of sun, a bit of shade, more or less of one of her medications or supplements, a level higher or lower on her oxygen, a lighter or heavier approach from a healer, a change of scenery, no change of scenery, to sit, to stand, to sleep, to awaken, an advocate, a guardian, a child, a friend, a provider, a lover, and to provide each of these and many more. It would be a relief...
"Enjoy her," said the man at Costco who recently lost his own mother. I have. I do. I will. With every scrap of my being. And when it is over, when she has died, I can assure you, I will be too exhausted to be able to allow anyone who has not taken advantage of this time in my mother's life to enjoy her personally on her terms, to enjoy her in absentia through me. This is not a threat. It is a sad, tired prophecy.
You see, solitary, intense caretaking of children is often done by one of two parents, whether the parents are together or separated. While I don't believe this is the best of circumstances, the journey of that caregiving is quite different than what caregivers do for the declining and/or elderly. As the child grows to adulthood the giving becomes less and less intense. Despite our desire as a society (or, perhaps, as a species) to liken old age to childhood, the two are nothing alike. One is a gradual stretch into personal competence in life. The other is a gradual shrinking from personal competence in life. Normally, taking care of a child slowly releases both the child and the caregiver into their own lives. Taking care of an Ancient or Declining One slowly grips both the caregiver and the charge into a union which blurs the boundaries between the two people's lives. I am, for instance, now, not only the person whose arm my mother grips when she walks, I am her thirst, her appetite, so many of her bodily indicators upon which she can no longer rely. I am sometimes parts of her will, although she retains a great deal of this. I am also her interpreter, to not only others but to herself.
These are not tasks that someone can do continually well alone without occasional replenishment. I am not talking about pats on the back and words of admiration or gratitude. I am not even talking about vacations of hours or days from one's charge. I am talking about reliable, personally involved, personally aware comrades in arms. It would be a relief if I were not the only one who, at any particular moment, was assiduously tuning in to my mother's being to know whether she needs a glass of water, a change of underwear, a nap, a walk, a laugh, some mental stimulation, a leg massage, a meal, a bit of sun, a bit of shade, more or less of one of her medications or supplements, a level higher or lower on her oxygen, a lighter or heavier approach from a healer, a change of scenery, no change of scenery, to sit, to stand, to sleep, to awaken, an advocate, a guardian, a child, a friend, a provider, a lover, and to provide each of these and many more. It would be a relief...
"Enjoy her," said the man at Costco who recently lost his own mother. I have. I do. I will. With every scrap of my being. And when it is over, when she has died, I can assure you, I will be too exhausted to be able to allow anyone who has not taken advantage of this time in my mother's life to enjoy her personally on her terms, to enjoy her in absentia through me. This is not a threat. It is a sad, tired prophecy.
Monday, May 17, 2004
I can barely think of what to write.
The truth. The truth. The truth.
I am continuing to exhaust. This time the problem isn't lack of food, lack of medication, lack of time...
I'm managing to keep up with my mother although I seem no longer to be able to work to improve her life. I'm only barely keeping up with her business, then only keeping up with the business that will keep us from late fees or service disconnects. I seem no longer to be able to care about whether she stays up or goes to bed, whether she sits or moves, whether she breathes oxygen or air or smoke. She seems not to notice and remains in good humor.
I keep The Girls (our cats) fed and watered and minimally petted but I have trouble petting them now, as I did some weeks ago. I thank them a lot for their patience. They are understanding and loyal, continuing to sleep with me at night, which I need, continuing to greet me and talk to me, continuing to rub up against me even when I raise my hand to a few strokes and then drop it, not being able to find it within myself to stroke them more than those few.
I've managed to kill 6, possibly 7 of our 10 roses. I think about watering and feeding them all the time but as I think about it I feel as though I'm going to have to drain the water and food from my body and I have barely enough for myself, it seems. So I turn my thoughts into the void, even as, coming and going, I look at the roses and thank the 6 dead and the 7th faltering for their sacrifice on my dwindling behalf. I thank those left for thriving on their own.
I've informed the oxygen guy that from now on he should not expect a meal when he brings supplies up from the Valley. I have no enthusiasm for the meals I must cook, let alone meals that aren't necessary. I'm also finding it impossible to participate in pleasant conversation with anyone auxiliary to this household.
I now use my iPod not as a music delivering spirit lifter but as a barrier between me and people I encounter as I go about my errands. I cannot find it within me to engage with anyone unless it is absolutely necessary.
I'm neglecting friends and I don't care because I simply can't find it within myself to be a friend right now.
The visit with MCS&BIL seemed to go well. I did find the energy to remain "on" and I continue to be grateful for their presence and the minor repairs MCBIL performed on our house. I was even somewhat optimistic that their visit would help turn my soul's tide and I would find myself feeling revived. But once they left it was as though they hadn't been here. My vitality meter reads lower than before they came.
I've been using tricks, watching Little Buddha, forcing myself to respond to one of MFASRF's delightfully sardonic emails (although I am having trouble responding to the most recent one), slathering myself with sandalwood, the smell of which usually revives me, relaxing in our overgrown back yard and observing the extraordinary life out there while the wind blows through me, forcing myself to read things that formerly excited me... Nothing seems to help for more than parts of an hour.
I'm "praying" (I put this in quotation marks as my beliefs in both "god" and "prayer" are somewhat different than usual) for strength, for replenishment, as honestly as I can: Acknowledging that this time I cannot help myself, it must all come from Without; I cannot bargain, I cannot offer anything, I have nothing left to offer in return for what I need. Is It working on my behalf? Not so far.
I'll be taking the last three acupuncture appointments although I'm not sure why. My faith has dropped below my soles and I no longer have the energy to "do the work" between needlings that helps generate good results.
I thought for awhile that although nurturing is not natural to me perhaps I could learn how to do it well. For awhile longer it seemed as though this was true. I'm now considering that I was wrong.
Compliments on and thanks for my performance as my mother's companion have begun to ring hollow. It is not that I think I haven't done well, it's that I think I am becoming less able, day by day, to do well.
My short in-home 'vacations' no longer replenish me so I've stopped taking them.
Sometimes I think I could use an outside vacation but then I think about what could happen to Mom during such a vacation, whether she spent the time in a skilled nursing facility or at one of my sister's homes, and that she'd end up in the hands of some doctor who would over medicate her or scope her to death simply because no one, I think, would be willing or able to monitor her need for medications and treatments as meticulously as I do. I know this isn't hubris speaking. I'm well aware of how much attention what I do takes and how much energy it takes to stand up to doctors and nurses. I can think of several times in the last few months when a skilled nursing facility or one of my sisters would have understandably turned her over to a doctor when I haven't. Instead, I've healed her gently and non-invasively on my own. I wouldn't blame any of them but I would suffer, post-vacation, from knowing that if I'd "been there" she would not have been brutalized by yet another doctor or nurse to absolutely no avail.
As long as I remain in this slough I doubt that I'll be reporting much here. It's difficult for me at this time to think about our life here any more than it takes to minimally negotiate it.
I need nourishment. I'm no longer capable of seeking it on my own. I'm not even sure what type of nourishment I need. This is what intense caretaking, when done alone by necessity, eventually does to even the best of us.
I am continuing to exhaust. This time the problem isn't lack of food, lack of medication, lack of time...
I'm managing to keep up with my mother although I seem no longer to be able to work to improve her life. I'm only barely keeping up with her business, then only keeping up with the business that will keep us from late fees or service disconnects. I seem no longer to be able to care about whether she stays up or goes to bed, whether she sits or moves, whether she breathes oxygen or air or smoke. She seems not to notice and remains in good humor.
I keep The Girls (our cats) fed and watered and minimally petted but I have trouble petting them now, as I did some weeks ago. I thank them a lot for their patience. They are understanding and loyal, continuing to sleep with me at night, which I need, continuing to greet me and talk to me, continuing to rub up against me even when I raise my hand to a few strokes and then drop it, not being able to find it within myself to stroke them more than those few.
I've managed to kill 6, possibly 7 of our 10 roses. I think about watering and feeding them all the time but as I think about it I feel as though I'm going to have to drain the water and food from my body and I have barely enough for myself, it seems. So I turn my thoughts into the void, even as, coming and going, I look at the roses and thank the 6 dead and the 7th faltering for their sacrifice on my dwindling behalf. I thank those left for thriving on their own.
I've informed the oxygen guy that from now on he should not expect a meal when he brings supplies up from the Valley. I have no enthusiasm for the meals I must cook, let alone meals that aren't necessary. I'm also finding it impossible to participate in pleasant conversation with anyone auxiliary to this household.
I now use my iPod not as a music delivering spirit lifter but as a barrier between me and people I encounter as I go about my errands. I cannot find it within me to engage with anyone unless it is absolutely necessary.
I'm neglecting friends and I don't care because I simply can't find it within myself to be a friend right now.
The visit with MCS&BIL seemed to go well. I did find the energy to remain "on" and I continue to be grateful for their presence and the minor repairs MCBIL performed on our house. I was even somewhat optimistic that their visit would help turn my soul's tide and I would find myself feeling revived. But once they left it was as though they hadn't been here. My vitality meter reads lower than before they came.
I've been using tricks, watching Little Buddha, forcing myself to respond to one of MFASRF's delightfully sardonic emails (although I am having trouble responding to the most recent one), slathering myself with sandalwood, the smell of which usually revives me, relaxing in our overgrown back yard and observing the extraordinary life out there while the wind blows through me, forcing myself to read things that formerly excited me... Nothing seems to help for more than parts of an hour.
I'm "praying" (I put this in quotation marks as my beliefs in both "god" and "prayer" are somewhat different than usual) for strength, for replenishment, as honestly as I can: Acknowledging that this time I cannot help myself, it must all come from Without; I cannot bargain, I cannot offer anything, I have nothing left to offer in return for what I need. Is It working on my behalf? Not so far.
I'll be taking the last three acupuncture appointments although I'm not sure why. My faith has dropped below my soles and I no longer have the energy to "do the work" between needlings that helps generate good results.
I thought for awhile that although nurturing is not natural to me perhaps I could learn how to do it well. For awhile longer it seemed as though this was true. I'm now considering that I was wrong.
Compliments on and thanks for my performance as my mother's companion have begun to ring hollow. It is not that I think I haven't done well, it's that I think I am becoming less able, day by day, to do well.
My short in-home 'vacations' no longer replenish me so I've stopped taking them.
Sometimes I think I could use an outside vacation but then I think about what could happen to Mom during such a vacation, whether she spent the time in a skilled nursing facility or at one of my sister's homes, and that she'd end up in the hands of some doctor who would over medicate her or scope her to death simply because no one, I think, would be willing or able to monitor her need for medications and treatments as meticulously as I do. I know this isn't hubris speaking. I'm well aware of how much attention what I do takes and how much energy it takes to stand up to doctors and nurses. I can think of several times in the last few months when a skilled nursing facility or one of my sisters would have understandably turned her over to a doctor when I haven't. Instead, I've healed her gently and non-invasively on my own. I wouldn't blame any of them but I would suffer, post-vacation, from knowing that if I'd "been there" she would not have been brutalized by yet another doctor or nurse to absolutely no avail.
As long as I remain in this slough I doubt that I'll be reporting much here. It's difficult for me at this time to think about our life here any more than it takes to minimally negotiate it.
I need nourishment. I'm no longer capable of seeking it on my own. I'm not even sure what type of nourishment I need. This is what intense caretaking, when done alone by necessity, eventually does to even the best of us.
