"Running on Empty"

           My son voices his worry that David and I will sap our energy too much in caring for my mother. He knows about the middle of the night aid to take Mom to and from the bathroom, realizes she wakes up at the crack of dawn; he understands her need of someone being constantly within calling distance. When he expresses his concern, I remind him we spend a huge portion of each evening enjoying our own interests. We spend time together watching something mindless on television while munching popcorn.

         But I do worry about those days when I’m snapping at everyone and everything because that’s an indication that I’m feeling neglected or overwhelmed. When my siblings come to give us a break, we try to sleep late and head out of the house to our favorite places like browsing through the shops in Gruene, Texas. If my brother or sister arrives early on a Friday, we sometimes escape to the cabin in the hill country. That perfect retreat always offers the respite we need. If we don’t get a long break, we find ourselves overtired.

         I love the advice everyone gives about David and I needing to take care of ourselves and get adequate breaks. What people don’t realize is that unless someone volunteers to come over to sit for an evening, we can’t take off for a stroll through a mall or an evening movie. We count ourselves fortunate that our son lives in the neighborhood. He spends an incredible amount of time “hanging” with Grammy. If I have a doctor’s appointment, I know he’ll come over. I don’t like to overuse my son, though. Is this a normal response? I don’t know. I fear the months in the future when Mom’s needs will increase, when my need for breaks won’t fall into the “occasional” category. I think on some level, I don’t want to misuse my son’s offers for help now because I may need him more in the future.

         As we enter the second year of caregiving, we’ve reached our stride. This morning, I ran Mom’s bath while David started his pre-work routine. He stepped in to help Mom into the tub. While I stayed with her as she soaked in her bubbles and listened to her new Susan Doyle cd, David packed his lunch. Then he returned to help lever Mom out of the tub, dashing from the room to get dressed while I toweled Mom dry, applied lotion to her skin, and dressed her. Entering the family room, we found David already munching on his morning cereal.

         Our lives have a steady routine that flows most days in surprising harmony. Those days where I can’t do anything right for Mom sprinkle throughout the month. Those moments when she drives me crazy because she doesn’t want anything I’ve cooked happen infrequently. Those nights where we get up two or three times with her occur no more than once or twice a week. So, for now we’re holding our own.

         And when I find that we’re “running on empty” I think we’ll fall into music, or books, or hobbies to recharge ourselves.     

Camera in hand!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman          

"Only Human"

 

      I find it difficult to admit that I found myself yelling at my mother, in total frustration, “Stop spitting out your food!”

         I actually had to leave the room. I stood by the kitchen sink and screamed, shook my fists at Fate, and started crying. Then I swiped my tears with a paper towel, inhaled half-a-dozen shaky breaths, and returned to my mother where, with a façade of calmness, I continued spooning lunch into her mouth, apologizing profusely for losing my temper.

As much as I want my mother’s days to pass with as little stress as possible, I know   that my temper may bubble up when she dumps her Coke on the carpet. I know that when  she insists that she wants to get out of bed, Mom may end up yanking her feet in the opposite direction and pull back against me in unexpectedly forceful resistance as I try to lever her into her wheelchair. I know she may tell me she’s hungry, and then refuse to eat. I know she may squirrel her medications in her cheeks and spit them out into her napkin.

I cannot take on guilt for my failings. The weight I carry as a caregiver taxes me enough. I don’t need to add to the load by picking up bricks of self-reproach because I’m not perfect. I know a professional caregiver would never raise her voice at my mother, but I’m not a professional caregiver.

No one modeled the best way to clip my mother’s finger and toe nails as she pulls away her hand or foot in uncontrollable movement. No one showed me how to bathe her, or wash her hair, or comb it to keep the tangles out. No one modeled the best way to feed her to avoid choking. No one prepared me for how to help her move her bowels. No one trained me for ten to twelve hours shifts often spent in near isolation.

            When other family members offer to give me a break, I never think twice about accepting their help. My husband and son, my sister and brother, have all taken up the duties of a caregiver. They each step into my world and provide the relief I desperately need by the end of a long day or week.

                So if I find myself yelling at my mother, I’m not going to flagellate myself for being less than perfect. I will apologize to her, and I will remind myself that I am only human.

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Running on Empty"

          My son voices his worry that David and I will sap our energy too much in caring for my mother. He knows about the middle of the night aid to take Mom to and from the bathroom, realizes she wakes up at the crack of dawn; he understands her need of someone being constantly within calling distance. When he expresses his concern, I remind him we spend a huge portion of each evening enjoying our own interests. We spend time together watching something mindless on television while munching popcorn.

         But I do worry about those days when I’m snapping at everyone and everything because that’s an indication that I’m feeling neglected or overwhelmed. When my siblings come to give us a break, we try to sleep late and head out of the house to our favorite places like browsing through the shops in Gruene, Texas. If my brother or sister arrives early on a Friday, we sometimes escape to the cabin in the hill country. That perfect retreat always offers the respite we need. If we don’t get a long break, we find ourselves overtired.

         I love the advice everyone gives about David and I needing to take care of ourselves and get adequate breaks. What people don’t realize is that unless someone volunteers to come over to sit for an evening, we can’t take off for a stroll through a mall or an evening movie. We count ourselves fortunate that our son lives in the neighborhood. He spends an incredible amount of time “hanging” with Grammy. If I have a doctor’s appointment, I know he’ll come over. I don’t like to overuse my son, though. Is this a normal response? I don’t know. I fear the months in the future when Mom’s needs will increase, when my need for breaks won’t fall into the “occasional” category. I think on some level, I don’t want to misuse my son’s offers for help now because I may need him more in the future.

         As we enter the second year of caregiving, we’ve reached our stride. This morning, I ran Mom’s bath while David started his pre-work routine. He stepped in to help Mom into the tub. While I stayed with her as she soaked in her bubbles and listened to her new Susan Doyle cd, David packed his lunch. Then he returned to help lever Mom out of the tub, dashing from the room to get dressed while I toweled Mom dry, applied lotion to her skin, and dressed her. Entering the family room, we found David already munching on his morning cereal.

         Our lives have a steady routine that flows most days in surprising harmony. Those days where I can’t do anything right for Mom sprinkle throughout the month. Those moments when she drives me crazy because she doesn’t want anything I’ve cooked happen infrequently. Those nights where we get up two or three times with her occur no more than once or twice a week. So, for now we’re holding our own.

         And when I find that we’re “running on empty” I think we’ll fall into music, or books, or hobbies to recharge ourselves.     

Camera in hand!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman