A Small Glimpse of What It's Like Being a Caregiver

Thoughts keep flooding my mind tonight and often the best way to rid myself of them is to write, so even though it’s late and I still have things to do for Mom, I’ve decided to post. Besides that, I said I’d tell you about the life, thoughts, and feelings of a caregiver and what I’m experiencing tonight is a prime example.

I’m exhausted. Every little task that has to be done seems monumental. I’m starving, but really don’t have the energy, even the incentive, to fix something to eat. Every joint and muscle in my body aches and burns, even my hands. I’ve taken my old friend Advil and as much as it helps, it can’t do miracles. It’s well after 11 PM and I’ve taken her vitals and checked her oxygen levels, given her meds, reloaded the pump with a fresh bag of formula and flushed her feeding tube, done her mouth care and Vaselined her lips, and I should be able to tuck her in and kiss her good night. But I can’t. I just checked and she needs to be changed again before I can call it a night. That’s the biggest, and the hardest job of all and the one that takes the biggest toll.

She had both hips broken three years ago and that left her with contracted legs. As a result, she can only be turned on her left side when doing anything for her. She’s a little bit of nothing, no bigger than a wet bar of soap as my dad would say, but has the strength of two men. I remember once having to call 911 when she got mad and sat down in the middle of the bathroom floor (this was before the hips incident when she was still able to walk) and I could not get her up. I’d tried everything, even let her sit there for almost an hour hoping she’d get over her mad spell, but she was glued to that floor and that was that. A very disgruntled paramedic glared at me when he got here and I told him my problem, I’m sure for bothering them with a non-emergency call for which I humbly apologized, then grabbed her under the arms and tugged. He was about 5’11”, muscle-bound, a big guy. And he couldn’t budge her. His partner arrived about that time and the big guy sheepishly asked him to help. They brought her to her feet, the partner ran and got my computer chair so they could roll her to the recliner, then down the hall they went with her yelling at the top of her lungs and ordering them out of her house. Needless to say, I laughed. They got her to the recliner, the big guy sat her in it, then said to me, “Please tell me you have help with her.” His last words as they went out the door were, “Good luck. I’ll be praying for you.” Now he understood.

It’s not quite that bad now because she’s bedridden, and you would think at my mercy. Don’t kid yourself. She can turn herself into a lump of lead at will. Dementia seems to arm them with superhuman strength and the strength she possesses, especially considering her fragile health, is amazing. And back-breaking.

Changing her is her least favorite thing and she resists with all her might each and every time. I try to turn up her towards me and she tries to make sure I don’t. The only time there is a chance of that not happening is when her Seroquel has put her into such a deep sleep she really isn’t aware of what I’m doing. That’s what I’m waiting for now.

I’ve had help with her a total of three hours in the last seven days, and seeing to every bath and pants change has worn me down. Two prospective aides came for a meet and greet yesterday, another one today. One of them seems very nice and if she accepts the job, she will probably start Tuesday. On, my, that’s a long way off.

I kissed her as I was pulling her up in bed this morning. “Oh, I love you, Honey.”, she said, almost crying. I told her I loved her, too. “I want you, Honey.”, came next. I kissed her again and told her I wanted her, too, forever and ever, and that was how we’d be, together forever and ever. “All right.”, she said. Then she was fine.

You better bet I’ll find the strength to make it until Tuesday.

Till next time,
Sharon