Four more conclusions in response to a caregiver’s plea for help
The caregiver I quoted last week had emailed me to say he’s impatient and frustrated and feeling guilty for feeling that way! He asked if I would offer some counsel.
I replied that I’ve never felt qualified to advise, and I’ve certainly never planned to give advice in this blog. But because his situation is serious and his plea for help was heartfelt, I decided to share some experiences that may resonate with him. Last week I offered four of ‘em. This week I’ll list four more.
I’m coming to understand that self-care isn’t selfish.
I could make an impressive list of support I didn’t think I needed but decided to try anyway.
The online support group I attend weekly has put me in contact with a circle of caregivers that has come to feel almost like family. Their experiences have shed light on every challenge I’ve faced. But it took me years to give in and join a group.
By the time Evelyn moved to a care facility, I was paying three different gals to provide caregiving for her at home. Each time I hired one of them I didn’t think I really needed her. But when a friend told me they were available, I decided not to pass up the opportunity. In each case, I came to depend on them.
I accept help, and I’m learning to ask for it.
The first is sometimes difficult; the second can feel impossible. But the fact is, no caregiver can handle it all alone, physically or emotionally. I’d be in deep water today if I hadn't crossed this bridge.
More than once I asked a friend to stay with Evelyn so I could attend a meeting or a funeral. They not only visited, but they brought food, did laundry, cleaned, and cooked.
One of my wife’s friends who has spent many hours helping us said, “It’s a blessing to me to feel needed and useful.” I’m learning to believe I’m doing something good for others by allowing them to do something necessary for me.
I try to be grateful for what I do have.
The fellow who wrote me spoke of his wife’s illness, which attacks her body, but not her mind. If I were inclined to advise, I’d say, “You don’t realize how grateful you should be that she can still talk and think and laugh with you!”
I’d give $10,000 to discuss a serious issue with Evelyn, chuckle with her about a funny incident, or watch an intriguing movie together. I’d add that much more if I could trust her to walk down the hall without falling.
I often say we could cope just fine if she suffered only from Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s, not both. But I realize that’s a hollow claim. It’s natural to sing “if only.” It’s typical to believe we’d be happy if just one part of our situation were different.
But I suspect if Evelyn suffered from only one disease, I'd still be wrecked because of all we’d lost. I wouldn’t think about how much worse our lives could be. I wouldn’t be grateful enough for the good still with us.
Gratitude is a choice, I’m discovering, and so I name our blessings—or at least some of them—every day. I have so many! They don’t make the bad go away, but they do make the bad more bearable.
I realize that Evelyn isn’t the only one I’m serving.
Jesus said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” So some time ago, I decided to try to think of my caregiving as being for him as well as for Evelyn.
It didn’t always help. When I was cleaning up a mess, struggling with Evelyn in the bathroom, or trying to get her back to bed in the middle of the night, I’ll admit I could become as frustrated as the next guy. And now when I’m wondering or worrying how Evelyn is doing at the care center, when I’m evaluating and advocating for her care, arranging my days with time to visit her, or juggling funds to make the monthly payment, too often I’m not thinking about Jesus.
But when I can imagine I’m adjusting his socks or trying to figure out if he’s in pain, when I can think about how patient I’d be if it were his arm I was holding to guide him down the hall or his meal I was helping him eat or his wellbeing I was working to support, then I more easily muster the energy to keep at it.
I fail at this so often that I have no right to tell someone else he ought to feel this way. But I do think it’s how God wants me to approach this chapter, so I will ask my friend to pray for my resolve and strength, even as I will pray for his.
Photos at istockphoto.com by kevron2001, Boonyachoat, and Jacob Wackerhausen