I don't have any art for this, so a 1000 pieces are enough. I've been a live-in caregiver for 13 years. I've written a blog about Three Story Life for most of that time. The art's cute. Real ain't cute.
Dark Humor.
Tonight my father is in the hospital, next stay in a month, with a partially collapsed lung. He's 90. We're in for the hospital stays until he passes because he has lovely insurance.
My brother who has Alzheimer's has Medicare, and his infection was treated today as well. I set him in the shower tonight and he came back out, said "there's somebody in there." That's a long sentence for him, and I wonder what he saw. And then wondered if I needed to call 911 for me.
My father calls with what I need to bring to the hospital. One of those things is hearing aid batteries, so I can ask when the list starts "did you call FedEx?" because 1) he never listens to me and 2) he has no working hearing aid batteries. These calls can begin as early as 7 because he hasn't slept so everyone else in the known universe is awake.
I'm happy to be joined in this we all die thing by wonderful people like Caitlin Doughty.
And in the truly fine way to move with much loved Leonard Cohen.
And in the blooming interim there's the true weird and wonderful. This is the intersectionality I live in. Between life and death there's old age, infirmity and diminishing capability for us all.
The Three Story Life posts are going to be a play. I'm using NaNoWriMo to be well on my way, and I hope to be at Ragdale to finish. Or perhaps it won't be finished.
Keep me posted is what my family texts/says. Maybe they all need hearing aid batteries. Maybe I don't know how to ask for help.
Hi Linda,
ReplyDeleteI discovered your blog through your posts on Eve Babitz's books on Goodreads and enjoyed your reviews so much. I'm so sorry for the struggles and difficulties you're going through right now, and what you've gone through in the past as a primary caregiver. The last sentence of this post resonated with me, as I'm also a primary caregiver for my Grandmother and have been for the last 12 years. The sentence resonated as I've found, unfortunately, that's often what members of my family say - my Grandmother's eldest son and his children, especially, even when they're asked for help, when they're told "I'm not coping", they seem happier to ignore their share of the responsibility of care whilst the 'designated' - at least in their mind - caregiver struggles onward and attempts to battle through the hardships. That, or it's easier to portray their best ostrich impression and in their minds, pretend that they're not getting older and so is their only living parent, in turn making it easier for them to manage the passing of time.
Sorry for rambling on! I am leading to my point, which is, please don't put any burdens on yourself regards not knowing how to ask for help, as depending on the person you're asking, you could be screaming from the rooftops, with a thousand megaphones and they wouldn't hear you, because they don't want to. I read a book, 'The Four Agreements', by Don Miguel Ruiz where he writes, "What others say and do is a projection of their own reality." Which, I guess, sums up what I was trying to say, without trying to be offensive or upsetting in any way. I didn't really know what to say, just that I wanted to reach out in some small way.
Sending you best wishes, Linda. I hope today was a good day in Michigan and the sun came out to say hello.
Shelley.