I thought I knew what "exhausted" means...
...but, today, I discovered yet a new level. Even though I'd gotten a good seven hours of sleep last night, by 1100 I could barely keep my eyes open at the facility, despite the home made pot-in-a-cup coffee I had this morning. Mom was, once again, already changed, dressed, in her wheelchair and eating when I arrived betwee 0830 and 0900. My intentions were, on arrival, that I encourage us to either go on another adventure walk outside or consider attending one of the eight services the church on the hill offers on Sundays, as Mom had mentioned, yesterday, that she'd like to do this. She wasn't interested in either, but wasn't in a bad mood...just maintaining a ho hum energy level. She was into a game of Sorry and interested in us continuing our reading through the chapter we'd started before she came to the facility. Then, she just wanted to stare out the window. I'd already noticed my energy level was falling through the floor. Finally, I asked Mom if she'd mind if I took off for a nap. She had no problem with this. I stopped at the store to replenish supplies (yogurt, pomegranate juice, black cherry juice, roast chicken for the week) got home a little before noon, collapsed on my bed and awoke at 1556 this afternoon. It seemed as though I was rested. I gathered a change of clothes for Mom for tomorrow, some yogurt and a salad so I could eat dinner with Mom, headed to the facility.
    When I arrived, Mom was napping, as usual, from her OT therapy session today. It seemed as though I was fine. I gently awoke her, as usual, in order to get her up and ready for meds and dinner. She wasn't hard to arouse, but she wasn't her usual cheerful self, either. I managed to coax her into a sitting position at the edge of her bed, even got her to stand and maneuver into her chair, but she gave up halfway through and collapsed in a "was a crooked [woman]" pose sort of hanging by her ass off the edge of her chair. I couldn't move her on my own into a more comfortable position and couldn't talk her into repositioning herself. Instead of continuing a gentle working of her, I found myself becoming irritated enough to tell her, "Mom, you've got to help me help you. I know you can do it. This is the whole idea of this therapy, to get you strong enough, again, so we can continue our life at home. Please, please, please, try for me. You know, the aids tell me that you always help as much as you can with them. It only takes one of them, anymore, to help you and most of the time they tell me you work hard for them. One of them told me this morning that you don't work as hard when I'm around as when I'm not. Mom, when you get home, it'll only be me. You've got to respond to me like you do to the aids or it's not going to work."
    Her response: "Right now, I don't care."
    I almost launched into a tirade, but I didn't. I pressed the call button, took a deep breath, gathered up my things. An aid appeared. "I guess I'm not as rested as I thought," I said to both the aid and Mom. "If I stay, tonight, I'm afraid I'll get irritated. I don't think that's good. Mom's pajamas are hanging over the edge of the bed. If you'll help her get straight in the wheel chair I'll wheel her to her table by the window for dinner. Mom, I've got to go, get some more rest. I love you. I'll see you tomorrow." I walked out at about 1715.
    I've been chilling since. I can tell I'm scrapping bottom for energy and motivation. I'm hoping a long, easy evening and night will turn me around. Even though I know there will be holes, here and there, in Mom's care, tonight, and Mom's roommate, a usually delightful woman who, unfortunately, believes, as well, that I should be at my mother's side night and day, despite my inability to do so and despite the fact that no one is doing the same for her, not even approximating what I do for Mom, nor is anyone doing the same for anyone else on the floor, will be full of stories tomorrow morning about how bad Mom's care was during the night, stories which will have only wisps of truth and which will be loaded with the roommates indignant annoyance that I checked out early, Mom will be fine, tomorrow is Monday, full of therapy, lots of attention, etc. I'm not worried.
    Well, I am a little worried about one thing. I didn't expect to have trouble "holding myself up". I'm surprised that I'm beginning to fray, here and there, but I'm dealing. I think, as I notice the fraying, it's best to address it at the time, rather than, as Mom's roommate would like, muddle through regardless and allow myself to completely unravel. I can't afford to be a mass of disconnected threads when Mom is released. Mom can't afford to come home to me with me in that condition, either.
    Now that I'm thinking about it, I guess the real surprise is that I didn't begin to fray earlier. So, that's one point in my favor: I held up for three and a half weeks of caregiving under the most insane circumstances before I began to melt down. And, I think I've caught myself before I reached the point of no return.
    Tomorrow's another day. Roommates be damned. Other people's opinions be damned. Mom and I know what each other is doing, what each other needs, what we are still capable of giving to the other. We're in good shape. We can deal with well meaning but understaffed facilities. We can deal with interesting but jealous roommates. We can deal with our own fatigue, and each other's, as well. We can deal with anything. We're a team, even when we're separated. We'll be fine. All ways. Always.
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 22:17   email  this post