A Three Story Life: Grayscale

On this beautiful spring weekend, I cannot get myself out of the funk. Lowdown, hollow gut funk. Accumulative malaise. Scott is having an upbeat week. Dad maintains his usual life is a pain median line. All's well in the 'hood. But I've lost the color in my story. Depression is probably not catchy, but living in its weightiness long term is. For 7 years it has been my job to keep the mood elevated in the house. I haven't done a great job, but we kept going. I am unable to contribute right now. Every lift is harder than the last. I can act in a way that helps Dad deal with his issues of aging, and help keep Scott out of the way of Dad's mood, but I have trouble helping myself now. I'm down the blue scale to indigo, and the flight plan back up is missing. I know better than to read the news, or watch television because the news and television makes me scared and mad. Today I read about Walker in WI signing Act 219, reversing the equal pay law. Ron Christy on Hardball with Smerconish last night spouted the litany of Republican crud that the war on women the Republicans are waging across the country is a construct of the Democrats. And my gut gets hollower. The war on women perpetrated by drone Republicans doesn't impact my life as much as every tshirt put in the wash inside-out does, but it feels similar. It feels like progress is ephemeral and pointless. Tried to pay my car insurance yesterday. $12/month increase. And she warned about $30/year per driver Michigan mandated increase coming in May. I was so defeated by this I walked out. I actually said out loud I can't deal with this right now. I commented to Dad about it yesterday, and he got further depressed. My bad. Just now he said I want to help you out. He wants to give me $20 to buy a pair of sandals he just bought. It's a lovely thought, it's shoes, and I'm grateful for his offer, but it just made me sadder. I thanked him, demurred, and he said he doesn't want me to miss out on the sale. Sigh. My sadness must be terribly obvious, when Dad wants to help me cheer up. There are so many of us caregivers in the world, doing the best we're able, while we lose surety of our ability to do our best. We lose the essence of appreciation when we cannot appreciate ourselves. And we must appreciate us. To all the caregiving, weary, big-hearted women who wonder if there are good thoughts ever to be had again, I'm sending mighty good thoughts in your direction right now. Hold yourself tight, sisters. Hug yourself, pray, suck your thumb, cry, write a blog post, go to bed and pull the covers over your head, but find a way to heal for this moment. The next moment will take care of itself.

A Three Story Life: Diapers

Dad got an evening call from the caseworker at MORC last week. Scott's health services personal companion had called her boss to find out what she could do about the smell in her car. I heard this second/third hand narrative as I walked in the door, still with my coat on. Dad asked if I'd gotten an email from Mary. I looked at my coat, the door. "Get an email when, where, from Mary who?" He started to tell the story, and I stopped him, said I'd make dinner and do dishes and then we'd talk. I asked Dad then to repeat the story, the sequence of contacts. Scott's personal companion (PC here on out) said Scott urinates in her car. This is what she relayed to her boss, who in turn called MORC. Still don't know the story from the concerned parties because right now it's hearsay from an unreliable narrator, but I've got the gist. Dad said he was depressed. I said "what are you depressed about? This isn't about you. This is about Scott and his dignity. Let's talk about solutions." First decision made: get the PC's car cleaned and de-stinked. The fact is Scott drops his pants to pee and stands sort of close to the toilet. He occasionally gets his pants. Diapers are not going to fix that. What are the alternatives? Retrain Scott to pee sitting down. Put diapers on him. Have the companion use my car. Get a great pad for the PC's car. Check on new PC because her limited schedule is part of the issue, and where they go (for 3 hr. coffee, with many pants peeing ops.) We will talk with Mary tomorrow, and the companion as well. I need to hear the other reporters' stories, then we will take appropriate action. Today I found out I bought tabbed diapers which won't work at all - Scott will just tear the tabs. So he and I talked about trying to sit on the toilet to pee. I don't have much hope for success, but I still want him to have options. I'll exchange the diapers. We'll talk to everyone. I'm damn proud of me. I switched my anger at the PC for not coming to us first to positive action. She did what seemed reasonable to her. I bushwhacked Dad's inability to cope by involving him in discussion and decision-making, and put aside my quaking heart to involve Scott in making choices about his dignity and freedom. Dad is calmer. I am calmer. Scott hopefully will remain calm. Anyone else's comfort is not my concern.