I want my life back.
I’m tired of having to put aside the things I want (and need) to do in order to walk the dog, grocery shop, go to the post office, do laundry, clean house, pick up loose ends, run to the pharmacy, drive to doctor appointments.
I want several hours (preferably days) ALONE IN MY OWN HOME with no one asking me questions or wanting something or needing to be monitored.
I’m tired of making three meals a day because I have to make sure someone eats. (I’m a grazer; left to my own devices, I eat when I feel so moved. Sometimes I eat cereal or popcorn for supper, but that isn’t appropriate for my patient.)
I’m tired of interruptions, of not being able to string two thoughts together without being called away.
I’m tired of repeating myself, endlessly, because she forgets.
I’m tired of hearing her repeat herself endlessly, because she forgets.
I’m tired of trying to keep her entertained and stimulated. She’s doesn’t watch TV and seems unable to enjoy music anymore. All she has is books, which she devours. (Let me tell you how many trips I make to the library in a week.) If she ever loses the ability to read (and she will, it’s inevitable), I don’t know what I’ll do.
I’m tired of doing this alone. My husband is TERRIFIC with her, but he acknowledges that the brunt of it falls on me. My friends Mo and Ryan are wonderful, and Mo has been particularly willing to come babysit to free me up. I don’t have the luxury of having family near-by (although, as I learned from my Hospice families, that doesn’t always guarantee involvement).
I just want my life back.
You bet. Hang around a while and you might even see my stamp my feet. If I had any extra crockery, I’d be out in the garage flinging it against the walls.
On some level, I suppose this whole caretaking thing is worth something, but I can’t see what. Not today.