What happens when the caregiver needs care? Whether through chance, a random sudden injury or illness, or just worn out from taking care of others, when the caregiver can no longer provide care, then what?
If you have raised, or are raising, children, you have experienced this dilemma. The mantra "moms are not allowed to get sick" resounds in most homes, at least in the minds of the children and the husbands. And before you get your knickers in a twist, men, I am not saying only moms take care of kids. Dads do too. But we women, especially moms, do have that care provider, nurturing tendency imposed on us by God as part of our nature. Heck even the drug companies are capitalizing on this--the commercials about "daddy's don't get a sick day" and "moms can't take a day off" are cute, but you cannot always swallow a teaspoon of magic elixir and feel well enough to take care of your charges.
Been there, done that. Have the spit-up covered t-shirt to prove it. But being a caregiver for someone who eventually will no longer need care is oh so different. Yeah, yeah, I could lament about how we moms need "to be needed" but that is for another blog, another time. And yes, my husband at times needs care, but again, he gets better. I am talking about being a caregiver for someone who will never get better, who will always need your care. Someone you must plan your entire life and its activities around.
Taking on the care of another adult is treacherous, tricky stuff. As a caregiver, you must subjugate your needs to those of the one being cared for. This happens continually on a daily basis, in big decisions and small. When and what to eat. When and where to go, what to watch on TV, when to have a conversation on the phone or with your spouse, when to go on vacation or have friends visit. But I digress. This is supposed to be about caregivers needing care. I have three pertinent, relevant examples from my own life.
My in-laws live in Tampa, FL, approximately a 12 hour drive from our home. Daddy has advanced Parkinson's disease and his primary caregiver is my mother-in-law, who has diabetes and other illnesses. She is from Spain, so her entire family is not in the US. A month ago, she had a heart attack and was hospitalized, and then just last week, was hospitalized again for severe pneumonia and anemia. Since Daddy needs help eating, dressing, bathing, and getting his medications, he was without a caregiver.
My brother, age 64 and mentally handicapped since birth, lives with my 92 year-old dad and 75 year-old stepmother. While he works in a sheltered workshop and can bathe, feed, and dress himself, he is totally dependent on my parents for a roof over his head, health, and care. My dad got very sick last year with pneumonia, and my stepmother nearly put herself in the hospital trying to take care of the two of them.
Then there is my mom, age 88, who has an ileostomy (her intestine opens up and empties feces into a bag on her abdomen), is nearly deaf, severely arthritic, and does not have enough income to survive on her own. We moved her in with us five months ago, and have had to adjust our entire life. So has she. But then I got sick three days ago...so sick I slept for 36 hours, couldn't keep anything down for two days, not even ice chips, and could not even muster the "mommy" bravado to pretend I was okay.
All of these happened simultaneously this past week. My husband had to leave to go take care of his dad and look in on his mom. My parents are still taking care of my brother, and because of rancor and issues stemming from events over half a century ago, they cannot come here, at least not while Mom is here. So Monday night, as I am violently ill, I had no idea how I was going to survive this. I had no caregiver. And we have four dogs to care for (again, me). So what happened? Well, I survived. My mom actually tapped into her mothering instincts and did the best she could, taking the dogs out at times (albeit not for long enough, as evidenced by puddles on the dining room floor the next morning). And she still expected me to help her change Oscar (her ostomy appliance), and later on make tacos--neither of which are fun when your stomach feels like a washing machine filled with sour milk.
This morning, as I walked the dogs in freshly fallen snow (yes, there is probably some sort of metaphor there, but I am tired), I realized I had lost three days. Passing my neighbor's house, I also realized, embarrassingly, that I had not even called Marianna or Billy to tell them my predicament, or ask for help. My mother-in-law didn't ask for help until she nearly died and it became a fait accompli. And my parents are now taking advantage of respite care for my brother to give them a break at least twice a year.
I need to do better.
I need a caregiver plan b.
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