independence

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Losing Your Independence Days

As my husband’s health declines, so does his independence. He recently looked through our closet and took out a bunch of clothes that he used to wear to work. He doesn’t need them anymore nor do they fit him. He’s lost nearly 60 pounds since he wore those clothes. As he looked at all the pants and shirts he no longer needed, he got really sad. He said he felt like he was losing some of his “manhood,” not being able to provide what he used to for our family. I didn’t make many comments, just told him how sorry I was and cried along with him.

This week, he’s decided he can no longer drive. Due to his diabetes, Wal has had shots in his eyes to make him see better. But now since the cost of each shot is over $4,000 due to our crappy health insurance and the fact that his diabetes is no longer controlled in any way, he’s nearly blind in one eye. The last time we were out for a drive (I was driving) he realized he couldn’t see the pedestrians on the side of the road. He knew at that point that his driving days were over, but he waited a few weeks with no driving to finally say it out loud. He’s always been a person who really cared about safety of his work place, his home, and his family, so he knew he made the right decision. But it still hurt both of us deeply.

Wal can no longer read due to his vision. He listens to audiobooks constantly, thank goodness, but he does miss the act of reading. (And many of his favorite books are not in audio version.) Whenever he needs a prescription called in, I typically do it because he can’t see the numbers on the bottle well enough. Whenever we watch the national news, there are headlines on the bottom of the screen which I now read out loud to him. It really feels like we became an old retired couple overnight, you know?

Yet even with all of these small but significant losses piling up, we found something that made us happy and gave us both a little more freedom.

His first ride

These electric scooter carts in some stores opened up both of our worlds. Usually, when we go shopping of any kind, I go into the store and Wal either stays in the car or stays at home. One day, he was feeling good and went into Home Depot with me. There in the front of the store, were several scooters. He leaned on his cane and just stared at them. A lovely gentleman came up to us and asked if we’d like him to show us how to use them. Wal immediately agreed and before you know it, he was speeding along the aisles. We loved it! I was free to wander on my own and not worry about him, and he was finally able to browse like he used to. We were both in such good moods after our little trip. Neither one of us felt rushed, and in an odd way, it felt a little like when were first married. We were enjoying our time together, even while looking at light switches.

This past weekend, we went shopping with our son and Wal used a scooter in BJ’s Wholesale Club. Our son laughed with absolute joy by seeing his father zoom around. There was definitely some “man, he’s so old and decrepit” vibes, but it didn’t matter. It was good for both of us to see Wal have a little autonomy.

The emotional rollercoaster that is our lives rocks and rolls on. I hope y’all are doing better or at least not worse.

Hugs to y’all. ❤

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Interdependence

On this July 4th, I am longing for some independence.

I’m not here to “complain” about all the freedoms and advantages I have as a white, educated, lower middle-class woman. I am well aware I have a shitload of them. I am also currently hyper-aware of the advantages I have (or will have again) as an able-bodied person.

Many of you know that I broke my arm 11 days ago. It was just a freak accident while goofing off with my son and landing “just wrong.” It’s been a week since I had surgery and I now sport a plate and a bunch of screws inside of my body, just below my shoulder. I really wish they could have just inserted bionics, because seriously! That would totally be worth the pain if I could lift a car with my right arm or throw a baseball 2 miles. But apparently I’m no Jaime Sommers and this isn’t a cool 1970s television show. It’s just my real life in 2019. Ain’t that a pisser?

When I first broke my arm (and yes, it’s my right and I’m right-handed), the pain was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I rarely stopped screaming or crying those first few hours. My brother’s partner drove my boy and I to the ER. Every bit of movement was excruciating. Meds helped very little but some at least relaxed me. Once I was somewhat stabilized, I became horribly depressed. How would I do anything?!? (My husband was out of state when all of this happened, too.) My beautiful sister drove over an hour just to take my damn bra off me and give me a sponge bath, and her husband made us dinner. My son did anything and everything I asked him to, but I needed to do some things for myself. Yet every damned thing was just so fucking difficult. Go brush your teeth with your non-dominant hand and tell me how it goes. NO! WAIT! Go wipe your ass with your non-dominant hand. THAT, my friends, is just friggin’ weird.

Now that I’ve had surgery and my husband is home to help the kid and myself, I’m not quite as depressed or disheartened as I was. I’m still very frustrated with not being able to do certain things like put my bra on by myself, do dishes, wear pants with buttons or zippers, or even sleep in my own bed. And keeping my pain level manageable still isn’t easy, especially at work. BUT, even with all of my frustrations and annoyances, I am incredibly lucky to have family and friends lending a hand to help me, and a staff at work who have my back in more ways than one. As independent (and stubborn) as I am, I know that if we all were a little more interdependent or even just admitted that we needed one another, we could live in a truly incredible world.

So lend a hand if you can to someone that needs it. And if you’re in my vicinity, I’ll be happy to borrow your right hand, arm and shoulder.

Let’s take care of each other. ❤

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Lost and Found

If I’ve learned anything this past week, it’s that Alzheimer’s Disease slowly eats away one’s independence, dignity, eventually humanity. It not only destroys the individual, but it injurs and scars the caregiver and the family.

Last week ended with me losing my mother in a hospital (she can seriously boogie with that walker!) and also discovering at least 6 months worth of unopened mail in her home, including financial matters that should have been tended to. And this week began with me visiting the bank and crying at the desk of a bank employee.

Today I told more people about my mother’s condition. I told people that may only be on the periphery of her life, but ones that need to know why she doesn’t seem like her typical reliable self. My mother’s reputation has been in jeopardy for the past year, and maybe that doesn’t matter to some. But I know if my mother was in her right mind, it would matter to her. She’s been a respected citizen of our little town for nearly 50 years. She’s always been responsible. She paid her bills on time, mostly obeyed the speed limit and every single person I talk to says, “She’s such a sweet woman!” I don’t want anyone thinking less of her because I didn’t pay attention to that growing pile of mail in her living room. If I had done my job, I would have helped her open that shit at least two months ago.

mailBut I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I was afraid. In the back of my mind, I knew my own responsibilities for Mom’s care would increase. I knew I would have to have uncomfortable conversations with Mom about finances–her last bit of true freedom. So I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything until….well….until I did.  I had to stop putting it off and just ask Mom if we could organize her mail a bit. But something so simple is still not easy for me to do. To this day, I still dread the thought of my mother being angry with me. She put fear in all her children, and although I can’t speak for my siblings, she put the fear of disappointing her, in me.

So now when I need to ask my mother permission to do something, like open her mail, I’m waiting for my mother to bite back, to tell me “no” and that she has everything under control. But she never says that. Not anymore. She knows she no longer has everything under control.  And as much as it pains me to say it, I guess that’s my job now.