Two lists with insight into how I’m actually coping right now
As I decide what to record in this, “My Chronicle,” week by week, sometimes I think of incidents or ideas I want to remember, but they don’t deserve their own post. This week I’ve gathered five such small subjects, grouped into two lists. Each one gives some insight into how we’re doing in January 2024, and I don’t want to forget.
Two steps I feel satisfied I’ve taken.
I could easily qualify as the poster child for Procrastinators of America. It takes me a long time to act on an opportunity I’m considering.
(For example, Evelyn and I weren’t married till five years after we met. Little known fact: A good friend told me he was going to ask her out if I didn’t start getting serious about her. That’s certainly not the only factor that moved me forward, but it is a data point I continue to find interesting.)
Thapana Onphalai photo at istockphoto.com
So I feel very good I’ve moved on each of these good ideas.
I’m setting up an emergency call plan. For at least a year I’ve been talking about this. If I had to call the life squad because of excruciating chest pains or a broken leg, we’d be in trouble. Evelyn couldn’t come along, I couldn’t leave her behind, and I’d likely not have time to find a friend for help.
But we have two excellent sets of neighbors who will step in. I’ve prepared a list of friends’ phone numbers to give them.
My plan is to make one phone call to summon a neighbor who will keep Evelyn company while making other calls to find those who could relieve them soon. These longtime friends, many who live some distance away, would figure out a plan for keeping someone with Evelyn as long as necessary. When I proposed this to the neighbors, they all said, “Good idea.” When I proposed it to the others on the list, they all said, “Glad to help.”
This is insurance I hope we’ll never need. But now, finally, I have it in place, and I’m glad.
I’ve begun investigating care communities. I have great kids who are concerned about both me and their mother. They’re strong and opinionated, but they’ve been gentle and respectful with me. They’ve given me space to take my own initiative. But they have spoken.
“Just gather some information,” they said when we were together at Thanksgiving. “Get some facts. See what’s out there. Investigating doesn’t force you to decide.” (Do they know I come slowly to a major change?) I so appreciate their attitude and encouragement. And I’m making good on my promise to follow through.
I’m working with a team of senior care consultants who know the area and what’s available in ways it would take me many false starts to discover. They’ll not only tell me what I don’t know and show me what I didn’t realize is available, they’ll keep me accountable to stick with this. That’s good.
Three sentences that make me emotional every time I say them.
I’ve spoken each of the sentences listed below. And invariably, even when I’m calm and composed, I can’t finish them without coming to tears.
I can’t imagine making her leave her home. Even after all the research, actually moving Evelyn to some “care community” may be one of the most difficult decisions I’ll ever make. I know I’ll likely not be physically able to care for her forever. I know it may become apparent that a change will be what’s best for her. But today, in the good and calm moments, I can’t imagine making her leave her home.
“How’s Mom?” our daughter wanted to know on the day last week we came home from the hospital.
I snapped a quick picture at lunchtime to accompany my update.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to imagine it. After all the upset last week, I must admit I’m getting closer.
What must life look like through her eyes? I’ve written about this before, but repeating it here is a good reminder. She is not being belligerent or willful or irresponsible when she leaves a wet glass on a wood table or must be asked ten times to stand over the sink with a dripping toothbrush or puts something somewhere I never find it. When she moves from chair to chair or walks in a circle through the kitchen and into the living room, for her these steps make sense.
Sometimes my face betrays my weariness, and she’ll ask, “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Honey,” I force myself to answer. What must it be like to live with your spouse and worry every day about displeasing them? It breaks my heart to think about it. But I need to think about it more often than I do.
I’m swimming in a sea of decisions. Evelyn was living with at least five distinct diagnoses even before she fell and broke five ribs last week. Each condition has troubling symptoms, each of them demanding vigilance to manage. Sometimes it’s impossible to make one decision that will be right for all of them.
Added to that are all the decisions that repeat in a circle day after day after day: what to eat and when and how much is enough, what to wear and is it clean, what to allow and what to forbid, when to engage and when to ignore, what’s normal and what needs attention, how soon to start getting ready or should we just stay home, and how are things going in the bathroom?
I’ve often come up with the right answers to most of those questions, but, of course, sometimes the right answer today is different from the best choice yesterday. And there’s seldom a day I don’t look back and tell myself I could/should have done something different.
If I think about this when someone asks me, “How are you doing?” sometimes to answer seems overwhelming.
But I don’t feel like giving up, and one reason is the remarkable support system I’m blessed to have surrounding me. Next week I hope to write about this one point that certainly deserves a post all for itself.