The denial game I’m playing: Change my focus? Not me. Not yet

I awoke with a start Thursday last week. In the haze of dawn I opened my eyes and tried to understand where I was and why my heart was beating faster. I discerned the ceiling above me and my wife breathing beside me and began to understand. I had been dreaming.

It was something like a nightmare. I was at the barbershop, trying to pay the guy who cut my hair. He waited patiently while I rifled through my billfold, but I couldn’t figure out which bills I should use. So I tried to write him a check. But my pen wouldn’t form the words and numbers. I stammered and struggled while he waited. (By the way, the haircutter was a relaxed Brad Pitt, lounging in the chair beside me. The counselors in the crowd can have a field day with that one!)

Then I heard my phone vibrating on the table beside me. Maybe the buzzing was what had awakened me. I grabbed it to see a message from Dean Collins, the college president whose blog I edit and whose posts I post. The email with that day’s post had not arrived at 6:00 a.m. as it was supposed to.

I scrambled out of bed, hoping it was a system error. But it wasn’t. I had made a settings mistake when I scheduled the post, and it wasn’t ready in time for the automatic email system to send. I fixed the error, apologized profusely, and asked the web designer for mercy. (He had to manually send it later that morning, an unscheduled interruption in his already full day.)

Stressful day

Why had I made this error? One clue might be my stressful day Wednesday, the day I had incorrectly scheduled the post.

Evelyn had an appointment Wednesday morning for an unpleasant procedure/test. I was dreading how she’d react to it, consumed with getting her properly prepared for it, and I knew she wouldn’t want to get up in time to be at the facility by 9:00 a.m.

But she was; in fact, we left early, which was a good thing, because we wandered around the medical complex for 30 minutes trying to get to the right spot for the test. We spoke with three different receptionists, driving from one to the other, looking for a parking space and walking a half-mile to get to the third one, who patiently pointed across the campus to the building where we were supposed to go. I was wording a letter of complaint in my mind till we got home and I saw the correct address and building number on the paperwork we had received with the appointment schedule. I had not taken the sheet of paper with us or double-checked it before we left.

Pride combined with stressful caregiving added to advancing age is a bad combination, I’m discovering.

Secret symptom

A few weeks earlier I had confessed to my doctor a symptom I was experiencing but had not described to anyone.

“I just feel trembly inside,” I told him. “This happens at some point almost every day. Like you feel when you get a chill, or you’re backstage waiting to go make a speech in front of a thousand people. Sometimes I feel it in my arms, or my legs, or across the back of my neck.”

His immediate response: “Have you had any concerning events or major life changes in the last five or six months?”

You’ve got to be kidding! was my first thought. “My wife has both Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s,” I blurted out. (I had told him this before, but I’m guessing it never made it onto my chart.)

“Of course you’re upset,” he said. “You’re worried about the future.”

Not so much the future, Doc. My bigger concern is getting everything handled this week!

I told him I try to take walks, and pray. He suggested before he’d prescribe nerve pills I should add meditation to that regimen.

I figure that’s a good idea (You don’t have to be an Eastern mystic to breathe deeply with both feet on the floor, put aside your worries, and let yourself feel calm. You don’t need to empty your mind, but you can intentionally center your mind on the beauty of the world, the mystery of your body, and the promises of God.)

I’m trying to do some of the above when I pray. I want to try meditation videos or a meditation app—when I get the time. (Yeah, I know what you’re thinking about that little piece of denial.)

Changed focus

So why post all of this? Perhaps it will be a little encouragement to some readers who also must come to terms with their own struggle to handily cope with all of life while hiding the stress behind a smiling, easygoing façade. It’s just not always possible—or advisable.

I know I need to slow down, but there’s so much to do. I need to at least consider giving up a few pursuits that are important or pleasurable to me. I don’t want to. I need slowly (or maybe not so slowly) to come to terms with the realization that caregiving is now my primary duty, not something added on or just accommodated. I’m working on that. Really, I am.

A friend said to me last week, “You’re changing your focus.” I think what he wanted me to hear is, “You must change your focus.”

Who, me? Change? What makes anyone think I have the strength or will or wisdom to do that? Of all the requirements of this unchosen journey, change is the duty I’m most struggling to embrace.

Photos by Ryan Kwok, Stefan Cosma, Nonsap Visuals, and Jakob Owens at Unsplash