Last night was M’s bowling night, which meant I sat with his team at the bowling alley and directed him as to when it was his time to bowl and on which lane he was to bowl. Nothing to it, right? Normally, that would be true. But a massive storm was on its way, so my head was pounding along with every pin that was knocked over.
Even my heavy-duty prescription medicine didn’t help.
Then M seemed to have more trouble than usual understanding when it was his turn, that he had two times with each turn to knock down all ten pins and to understand which lane I was pointing him toward. I know wanting him to listen better or pay more attention isn’t the answer. He’s doing the best he can. But it means there’s no relaxing evening for me.
It worries me that his teammates see him struggling. And they see me losing patience with him. Why do I care what these people think? I don’t know them. Not really. They’re just a random group of people M’s been paired with to bowl for the past few “seasons.” But I do care. I don’t want the perfect picture to slip. If I can’t present a picture of a perfect couple then I can definitely present a picture of a perfect caregiver. Can’t I?
No. I cannot. Maybe it’s time to be a little more real.
Because the reality is – being a caregiver is hard. When you’ve said “Put the garbage bag down.
Put it down.
The bag.
Put the bag down.
Put the garbage bag down.
Do you see the garbage bag in your hand? Put it down.
Right there. Put it down.”
It’s hard to maintain any semblance of patience. Then M will say “I don’t know why you get so mad.”
Well, of course he doesn’t!
This past weekend, M and I were at my dad’s house while dad was watching a golf tournament (don’t ask) at Pebble Beach Golf Course in California. My dad made the comment that he would love to be able to walk that golf course ‘one of these days,’ but he’s 80 years old and lives on the East Coast, so I’m not sure how it would happen.
On our way home, I heard M make a sound and as I looked over at him, he had tears streaming down his face. When I asked him what was wrong, he said that my dad’s children (all five of us) should give my father a trip to Pebble Beach as a gift – since he IS so hard to buy for, it would be nice to give him something he really wants. But why so upset about it?
It’s the disease again – and this is one time I’m glad for the way it is progressing with M. Lots of people, particularly men, get violent and paranoid with dementia and I thank God every day that has not been the case for us. I can handle sadness and sentimentality much better than I can handle violence and lashing out.
I pray it stays this way.
Thank you for allowing us to come along and see a glimpse of your reality right now. Many hearts and hands are praying for you both. Hope we’ll see you at the March 2nd support group. ♥️
I tried to send you an email about that and I think I only sent it to myself. I’m in the CEO’s office right now, so getting to a Zoom meeting at 4 pm is going to be a challenge. I’ll try, but . . .
I’ve been following you for quite a while, since you moved here from The Pie. When I came here it was because I was fresh from taking care of my parents for 14 years. My dad died of Lewy Body Dementia and my mother from just plain old she’s 96 and has been slipping away for 4 years dementia.
I did not suspect that in 2020 my husband was going to be diagnosed as Level 5 on the Global Deterioration Scale. I often remember posts you made a couple of years ago about how hard you fought not to be irritable with him and not to yell at him. Now I know. How I know.
This is just to tell you you now have yet one more caregiver walking this walk with you. It came on fast, it came on strong. Thanks for sharing your particular journey. I’ll be reading.
I am so, so sorry to have you as a member of this “club.” Reading your comment brought tears to my eyes. I know what you mean that it’s not something you ever expect to have to deal with. And it comes like a bolt out of the blue. I wish I had something like hope or a cure to offer you. But I’m sending you love and hugs and a sympathetic ear. I know exactly how you’re feeling.