if life gives you apples

Oh, my god, I had no idea how alone and helpless I felt until I saw the comments. Only a couple, but wow, they rocked my world. I really don't have a whole lot of people to talk to about this caregiving crap. Most caregivers I've met either act like they are, or actually ARE so happy to be there, 100% of the time, no regrets, no guilt. I am happy to be of service, after all my mom deserves a lot from us. But, I am tired, cranky, sad, depressed, and overwhelmed too. An hour off doesn't revive me the way it used to. Knowing her love doesn't revive me the way it should, either. I appreciate it, but think I'm too tired. And my back hurts. And my "regular" friends tell me to just hide out, not answer the calls, whatever. Do I need to do that? What if doing that puts her in danger?

Thank you for the camping ideas. In fact, I'll tell you my secret fantasy of running away from "home" and living in an apple orchard in the middle of nowhere. My practical side wants the apple orchard, because then, after resting for a week, I can give in to my entrepreneurial side and start to make and sell apple cider for a living. I'll have a little stand at the end of the road on Saturday mornings. The rest of the time I'll lay on my back in the orchard, watching the sky, feeling no guilt, and occasionally creating a masterpiece work of art that will fulfill my spiritual needs and also sell for enough money to get the whole apple cider business going. We'll have internet access but no telephone. Once or twice a month we'll drag ourselves into the city, where we'll fill up on books, paint, yarn, food, and other necessary supplies.

It'll be great, you'll see.

For now, the problem is that I'm feeling a lot of anger, almost dare I say it, hate even, for a certain member of the family. No, not the ill one who I call mom. Another member of the family has earned my wrath. Yes, sweet me also is feeling that H word toward this family member, in a way I haven't felt since 4th grade, when Rabbit stole my stocking cap and threw it over the school yard fence, all they while taunting me with chants of "Kerrie Kerrie Hairy Kerrie, went to school with armpits that were hairy..."

(Never mind his lack of poetics, I still remember it, so it must have been traumatic.)

Anyway, this individual is being shunned by me, but said individual doesn't notice it. This individual does not come when mom calls, does not roll her or straighten her when she can't move. Does not feed her or water her or treat her kindly. Or at least indifferently. No, indeed, this individual has been known to YELL at mom because she is sick, tells her she won't be getting better, tells her that her that he (oops, I mean, that he/she) will send her to a nursing home. At what point does that kind of behavior become abuse? And what on earth can *I* do about it? Nothing? Probably.

Not OK. It seems to get worse when I try to make a little tiny saran wrap thick boundary and spend a minute or two sleeping, watching TV, reading, knitting, drinking beers with Scott, or anything else that is not Taking Care of Mom. I get cranky when I can't sleep. But, mom calls me in the middle of the night, stuck, and Said Individual, although he/she is within ten feet of her room, will not come. Why. Why. Why. So I have to go rescue her from the crisis of the hour.

I'm sorry to have made this into a rantfest. I'll come up with something fun to post about next time. Like my recipe for roasted apples! I'll make you some of you get to visit me at the apple orchard. Be nice, and I'll tell you where to find it, and give you a bottle of cider to take home with you.

Dependence Day

See how far behind I am? I'm going to write about July 4th today, on July 6th. Well. I could cheat and change the date so it LOOKS like I'm posting on the 4th. Maybe I will. The powers of Blogger would happily allow me to cheat. Then again, once you start editing your life like a Blogger post, it seems like it might just go downhill from there!

I took care of mom a good chunk of the day, which was littered with the occasional walking in search of caffeine and food breaks. It was the first year since we've been together that Scott and I were unable to watch the fireworks somewhere. I didn't realize that it would bother me or make me melancholy, but it actually did. The overwhelming feeling of being depended on by mom might have more to do with that melancholy than the actual fireworks, but whatever. I feel like my family and my husband are tearing me in two (or, more like in 8 or 9!) pieces as they all want things from me. I want to give them those things, but when the day is done there ends up not being anything left of me for ME. It gets to the point where I'm not even sure if I know if I would recognise myself if I saw myself on the street.

Mom needs me. Mom can depend on me. Mom does depend on me. Unfortunately I was raised to be very dependable. Kerrie. The organized one. The one who's good and coordinating things. The one who takes notes at meetings. The one who knows everyone's schedules. The one who knows how to straighten mom's legs just right, who knows how to roll her so she lands on her back just right. The one who can count out pills correctly. And the one who actually comes when she's called.

See, some members of this familly ignore Mom when they hear her calling help. But not Kerrie.

Scott needs me too. He resents "losing my wife" when I have to go take care of Mom. He gets lonely, he misses me, and he's been a real trooper as I dump all my emotional baggage on him. Taking care of Mom is not easy on so many levels, and I probably need a therapist to help me deal with all this crap, but where's the time? So Scott gets dumped on. He ends up carrying all his own stress and angst on his shoulders, then pushing it all aside to make room so he can help carry mine too. I'm afraid that we're forgetting how just be together, though. Not doing something, not going out for dinner or on a walk or messing around or going to a movie, just being together. Because we're not getting much time to just BE together. We're getting out of practice.

The business pulls, too, like a little hungry baby... how can you even think of neglecting a little hungry baby?

So, there leaves me. Trying to remember what I think, what I feel, what I want.

Please, someone, remind me how to not be the dependable one?

Student Saturday

Yesterday, I had class one in a series of classes I must take, titled "Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving." I am especially tickled by the revised part of the title, and plus we got free heavy text books. I flunked handwashing, alas, but passed glove use with a gold star. And got 100% on all the pop quizzes. I can hardly wait until next week.

Yes, you did catch a wee bit of sarcasm there.

Other things I learned:

1. I am no good at Saturday classes that start at 8am, so I have to catch the bus at 7am, after 4 hours of sleep.
2. Buy water from the only vending machine early, because it WILL SELL OUT.
3. I like the area of Capital Hill (Seattle, not Washington, DC) around Group Health Very Much. Cafe Ladro has the second best coffee in Seattle. (After Nervous Nellie's in Ballard.)
4. Germs=bad, bad, bad
5. Abusing the old person you take care of=very very bad.
6. Oh, yeah, and that glove thing.