A Break from Caregiving Posts

Note:  This post has been on my mind, and so I decided to try and write it, though it might not really have a place in this blog, as it isn't about care giving. 

Dear loved one:

The other day, when I told you that I didn't want to go to the Dunkin' Donuts down the road because it was attached to a gas station, you told me that you didn't understand.  What does it being connected to a gas station have to do with anything?

I wondered if we could be bluntly honest for a few minutes. 

I know it doesn't make any sense to you.

Actually, I know that it doesn't necessarily make any sense at all. 

There's a secret about my brain which maybe you've never figured out, however. 

It doesn't have to make sense to be valid. 

I don't know if I would be diagnosed as OCD if I went to a therapist.  I don't know if technically I am OCD.  I suspect that someone might slap that designation on me if I put them in that position.  I can't say for sure though, because I never have (and I'd like to avoid it). 

What I do know is that for years, and we're talking at least since high school where I ran over lines instead of stepping on them, I have set rules for myself.  Are these compulsions in response to obsessions?  Perhaps.  They are part of me though.  A very real part.  They permeate daily, weekly, and monthly life.  They lend me an air of eccentricity, because I'd rather be thought eccentric than crazy.  They gain a special strength, an aura of power, when they get connected to religion in my mind. 

This tendency toward obsession isn't necessarily bad.  It's what made me a really dedicated runner.  It might very well help me pay attention to the fine details of grant requirements.  It's not necessarily a bad thing. 

It doesn't necessarily have to rule me either.  Look, for a time if I incorrectly typed God's name I would retype it seven times.  This doesn't mean that I absolutely had to do this.  As with the high school lines, when it was important, when I was racing, the obsession did not have to be obeyed, I could land on the lines.  It's just easier, when the stakes aren't high, to sometimes give in on the minor stuff.  It's like an unspoken agreement with my brain.

If I give it the easy things, then we just get along more smoothly.  When the stakes are high, then I ask it to give me a break- but for the little things it is easier to play a game of compromise.

So no, not getting coffee from that Dunkin' because it's attached to a gas station doesn't make any sense.  At some point though, that was a rule set for a reason in my mind.

It doesn't have to make sense.  It's still valid.

That's me.  That is totally alright.

On Communication Difficulties

Tonight's the kind of night that stresses me out.  She's fretful.  She's said she didn't feel well.  She's asked me to take her to the doctor.  She's said she's gonna die (it's one of her catch phrases, especially, the suspicion is, because she knows it bothers us).  Yet she can't really tell me what's wrong,  why she says she doesn't feel well.  She shows me her hands.  Her hands are bothering her.  Yet what does that mean? Do they hurt?  Are they cold?  Are they sticky?  Are they antsy? 

Is it really her hands that were bothering her?  Or is she not feeling well elsewhere. 

Could it just be that she's tired?  Could it be a UTI, which causes agitation? 

Could it be none of this?  Could she just be exercising her right as a woman to sometimes be moody?

The thing is- that I don't know.  I don't know, and she either can't tell me-  or chooses not to.  When I told her that  I would make her a doctor's appointment tomorrow, she asked me to take her tonight.  Yet were I to take her to the ER (something she probably doesn't really want-  though she might as the ER staff is amazing and treats her wonderfully from past experiences), what would I tell them?  She just doesn't feel well?

This is where having a good physician comes in handy.  A physician where you can go, and say-  she just says she doesn't feel well lately.  It could be nothing, and if you tell me it's nothing that's great.  Since it's hard to know though, since she has trouble telling me, I take her for checkups sometimes when she probably doesn't need them, because I'd rather take her for nothing than ignore something. 

This is even more where having the Best Physician comes in handy.  On nights like this, where there's nothing definitely wrong (thank God) but she just gets fretful, prayer is best. 

Lord, please help my worries to be for naught.  Lord please help her to really be fine.  Amen.

She's dozed a few times.  She's woken up to clap.  She's snored a bit.  I'm hoping she will stay asleep for a bit.  I'm hoping she will wake up happier.

One of the things you might not think of with dementia going into this is this.  Communication difficulties require help.  Communication difficulties require faith.