My morning routine these days is very different than the routine I have had for most of my adult life. When I was a paralegal, I timed my morning to the nanosecond – showering, fixing breakfast, drinking my tea, dressing in business clothes, the commute.
These days my routine is more like that of a mother to a small child.
I get up between 7 and 8, and sit at my computer and drink a full glass of water, to re-hydrate. I usually eat a Nature Valley protein bar. I go downstairs between 8 and 8:30, and let Lola out to tinkle. I put on the electric teakettle and fix Mom’s coffee and my tea. I fix Mom a piece or two of toast. When the coffee is made I take her the toast, jam, and a cup of Chobani Greek yogurt.
I wake Mom up and help her out of bed, and help her get dressed. She can dress herself, but it’s easier if I help. Arthritis plagues her, mostly in her arms. When she is settled, and she has her Kindle, her computer up and going, and has had her Tylenol, I go back to the kitchen to fix my breakfast.
It occurred to me recently that my routine is not unique for caregivers. I read something yesterday about Maria Shriver and her advice to caregivers, to get away when possible. Her heart is in the right place. However, she doesn’t really understand caregiving. I do.
My brother was supposed to relieve me the day after Christmas so I could get away – for 24 hours – and do what I wanted to do. I planned to drive up to Acworth and spend the night and see friends there. I canceled. My arthritic knee was bothering me. However, there was another thing bothering me.
My brother is a very caring person, normally, and a good cook. He washes dishes, does laundry, vacuums, and is generally sweet about helping me around the house. However, he was not in a good mood over Christmas and he didn’t share with me why. I dreaded leaving Mom with him for 24 hours. Would he talk to her every day like I do? What if she needed a new book – would he be patient with her about finding it? What if she fell in the night? His phone number isn’t written on the side of her phone like mine. He sleeps heavy. What if she fell and he didn’t hear her calling him? She could be on the floor for hours, in pain.
What if? What if?
All caregivers ask themselves that question, a lot.
Probably nothing would have gone wrong, but my getaway didn’t seem like a good idea, for a lot of reasons, so I didn’t go. Bruce helped me with Mom a lot while here, and for that I’m grateful. I was able to relax and do what I wanted all day, without worrying about Mom or Lola.
Mom was in a rehab facility in August 2017, for several weeks, and several people said to me “Oh how nice, you got a break.” Um, nope. I didn’t. I worried about her every day. She was miserable. I was miserable, seeing her like that. I felt guilty I couldn’t manage her at home. She got stronger and was able to leave, but it was an ordeal for both of us.
Thankfully, Mom is much better now. She has made a remarkable recovery. She still has mobility issues but she is pretty spry for an 85 year old. I can leave her during the day for hours and not worry, as long as Michael is available.
A caregiver may or may not benefit from getting away from the “patient” and it’s important to know that getting away may actually be more stressful than beneficial. I need to know my substitute will sit and talk to her, and be compassionate. They might need to help her in the potty. It’s nothing, to me, but I couldn’t picture my brother doing it.
If you want to do something nice for a caregiver, take them dinner. Go stay with the “patient” for an hour or two so the caregiver can take a walk or go to a movie, or just get out of the house. I like my friends to just come see me and visit with me, here at the house. That way I am close by for Mom but I still get to socialize a bit.
Don’t be offended if a caregiver isn’t really keen on leaving the “patient” at all. Once your life’s mission is caregiving you can’t just turn that off quickly and easily.
My grandmother Cordelia was a caregiver for my grandfather Thompson for years before he died of emphysema. When he died, she was so distraught she couldn’t sleep in their bed alone at night, and went to sleep in her neighbor’s guestroom every night. She died just two years after he did. I regret never meeting her, but I now understand her a lot better.
One day my mom will be gone. I will not be ready for it. I will grieve terribly. However, I will not regret not seeing her more. I won’t regret “things left unsaid.” We are pretty honest with each other, and we say what we feel. I don’t feel downtrodden, or like a martyr, or anything close to it. These last few years of working from home have been stressful for a lot of reasons but 80% of those reasons were not related to Mom.
You do what you need to do for someone you love. That’s part of loving someone, not being willing to see them suffer. You want your parent or child or spouse to be happy.
My daily prayer is that Mom should have the best quality of life possible, these days. I cannot do anything big for her, but I can make her daily life easier and more pleasant. I hope one day someone will do the same for me.
