The Wear and Tear of Care at the Holidays

by admin | Nov 19, 2010 | Taking Care of Grandpa

My day today.

My middle daughter comes to me and reminds me she wants to host a Christmas tea party at church. It’s 12:30 a.m. in the morning. Her mind is alive with possibilities, mine, on the other hand, has shut down for the night. I am just thankful to have made it through another day.

I try to explain that this isn’t the right time to talk about a tea parties. She says it’s not a big deal. I say it is a big deal. She says it doesn’t have to be a big deal. I say there has to be decorations. She says there doesn’t have to be decorations. Now I am overwhelmed. She is over simplifying it and I am over complicating it.

I can’t talk about it anymore. It’s not the right time of day because it’s really the end of a long day and I fell asleep on the couch, but then I woke up again, and now she’s asking about a Christmas tea party. I love her enthusiasm, but I know I hurt her feelings because I couldn’t focus. I will have to discuss it with her later today, but not too late (she’s going to help host a great tea party).

My older daughter asks if we’re  going to Aunt Joan’s as usual. I think we are, but Aunt Joan is moving to another state in a month or two – maybe. She was supposed to stop by and cut Grandpa’s hair, but she hasn’t showed for the last two weeks. Grandpa is beginning to look like a derelict. It’s time to make a trip to Charlie, the barber. Grandpa doesn’t like Charlie.

She says we can come to her house for Thanksgiving, but she says her kids really want to interact with my kids. This statement is in reference to that fact that the last couple of holidays we have spent there, the kids have all gone down stairs after the meal to play We Bowl and other games on their big screen TV. Not my choice, but I was too tired from taking Grandpa out of the nursing home last year to get up off the couch and tell the kids to come back upstairs to play parlor games. After a year of taking care of Grandpa, I don’t think I have the energy to plan a non-electronic game day. I think somebody else needs to plan the activities this year. Maybe, Martha Stewart?

I get a call from the physical therapist. He needs to come over three times next week to make up for one visit he missed (I don’t get it). Anyway, he asks if we’ll be home on Thanksgiving Day. No, I say, we’ll be at my sister’s. He asks me again if he can come in the mornings. I tell him again that the mornings are not a good time for Grandpa. I think he would know by now that mornings aren’t the best time for physical therapy for most Parkinson’s patients.

I am reminded by the younger kids that the older kids have been saying they don’t want to do Christmas this year. “What?” say the younger kids, “No Christmas?” No 19 and 24 year old could even think that way unless they were BURNT OUT from taking care of a 90-year-old man with limited mobility from Parkinson’s.” I will make Christmas happen,” I console the younger kids, “Don’t worry,” I say. What Christmas is supposed to even look like this year, I’m not really sure. Grandpa and Uncle Jay have already asked if we were going to have a Christmas tree. Somebody’s got to be in charge of that, and it’s usually me. I bought a small feather tree a month ago from Hobby Lobby to put in our house so we can put up our bigger tree at Grandpa’s. That was met with groans from middle daughter.

My brother emails me and says he needs to use “his” garage (the one at grandpa’s house) to store his stuff in because finances are getting too tight, and he needs to sell his other house. Says he feels bad asking me. Well, he  really doesn’t ask, he just tells. We pay a hefty rent every month out of Grandpa’s income and now we don’t rent the garage? Hmmn. I tell him Claire’s car will be parked in that garage for the winter (plus there’s Eric’s motorcycle), but he can store his stuff to the side and in the basement.

Everybody keeps telling me what they’re going to do, and I just keep adjusting my life to their whims and demands. Round and round I go.

That’s why I can’t think about a church tea party. I am overwhelmed. I don’t know anyone at church, anyway. I hardly get to go. Sunday is my day to watch Grandpa. I feel so disconnected. I’ve  worn my pajamas over to his house for the last week. I don’t even want to get dressed. I just want to be comfortable, but then I start to sweat while I prepare his meals and  take care of Grandpa because the house is kept at an even 72 degrees which doesn’t mix well with flannel.

In the meantime, Grandpa is happy as a lark, thankful to be so blessed as to have escaped his prison sentence in the nursing home. I’m glad he is happy, but now we are all his prisoners. Yes, prisoners of love and devotion and duty. And I know that the Lord put me in charge of his care because I really do care for him and won’t take advantage of him in his old age.

I’m writing this too late at night – too early in the morning. All of my emotions are pouring out, especially the exhausted ones.

I read this post to my husband who gets up very early in the morning to go to work. I said, “Honey, you’re the only one who didn’t tell me what you needed today.” He says, “That’s good, but you better be off that computer this afternoon. I need to fill out the social security prescription form for your dad, check up on our taxes with Turbo Tax, and fill out the health insurance enrollment form from work!”

Maybe, I’m not the only one.

Caring for the Ungrateful or A Rat in the Ranks

by jillnovak | Nov 18, 2010 | Taking Care of Grandpa

I take care of Grandpa on Sunday mornings so the kids can go to church. We watch some of the televised religious programs like In Touch with Charles Stanley and Power Point Ministries with Pastor Jack Graham, that is unless Grandpa’s too groggy.Yesterday morning, he was totally out of it, so before Claire left for church, she helped him back into bed after breakfast for his power nap. He missed all of his programs, but I recorded them so he could watch them later.

I didn’t know, because neither one of them said a word to me, but Grandpa gave Eric a real hard time about getting up, yesterday. He told him he shouldn’t go to church, but instead attend church at home like “other” people do on Sunday mornings. Unimpressed by his feeble attempts to dissuade him, Eric firmly told him, “I’m going to church and you’re getting up!”

There’s not much you can do when your 6’4″ grandson is towering over you with a determined look on his face. John 21:18 puts it this way, “I tell you the truth, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked; you dressed yourself and went wherever you wanted to go. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and others will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.” Unfortunately Grandpa is forced to go with the flow on Sunday mornings – and that flow is get up and go.

Grandpa generally wakes up around 8:00 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. weekday mornings, you can almost set your watch by him, but Sunday mornings, he is extremely hard to rouse. Doesn’t it figure? The one day we need everything to run smoothly like clock work, Grandpa is having one of “those” mornings. One thing I remember from having babies is you can always count on the the baby to have a rough night, especially when you have to go somewhere early the next morning. Lately, it’s the same with Grandpa. Sunday mornings are beginning to turn into a bit of a battle ground.

And, just when I make the observation that Grandpa rarely complains about arthritis or old age maladies like “the rheumatism,” he complains that his shoulder was hurting him all night long – from “arthritis,” no less. It’s possible that he pulled a muscle or something, but Grandpa is a bit of a hypochondriac and we tend to downplay whatever is ailing him, if it doesn’t bother him for more than a few hours.

We have often said that we’d love to have a 24-hour surveillance camera – a “Grandpa Cam” –  installed in his bedroom so we can see what shenanigans are going on during those supposedly “terrible” nights when he doesn’t get any sleep. I’m not downplaying his discomfort, but we are aware that the slightest symptom may be used as ammunition to solicit sympathy for not getting out of bed in the morning – especially Sunday mornings.

For instance, on Veteran’s day, Grandpa was pretty tired the whole day, sleeping most of it away, until Eric said, “Gee, Grandpa, it’s too bad you don’t want to wake up today, I was going to take you to Applebbe’s. They have a special for Veterans today, your dinner is free!”

Grandpa opened his eyes real wide. “Really?” he said, “I’m awake!” and off they drove to Applebees where Grandpa had a tasty steak dinner – his favorite. It touched my heart that Eric would take Grandpa out when he already spends so much time with him everyday. So you see, if Grandpa has a good enough reason, he will be extremely cooperative and push himself to get up. Eric needing a break from “Grandpa care” to go to church is obviously not a good enough reason to get his 90-year-old self out of bed. Truth told, Grandpa is being ungrateful – and a bit selfish, but at the age of 90, that’s to be expected, and it’s our job to keep lovin’ on him because even Jesus was kind to the ungrateful.

I love what it says in Luke, 6:35 “But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High; for He Himself is kind to ungrateful and evil men” NASB. Not that Grandpa is evil – at all, but he does have a tendency to display an ungrateful spirit every now and then, especially Sunday mornings. I think, I smell a rat…

The Tortoise and the Caregiver or Caring for an Elderly Parent with Parkinson’s

by jillnovak | Nov 11, 2010 | Taking Care of Grandpa

Have you ever been there? Done that? Taken up the burden of a thousand tomorrows and suddenly realized you were doing it “again” –  thinking so far in advance that you could barely make it through the day because of the crippling effect it had on your brain?

Remembering to take life one day at a time takes the inertia out of the downward spiral that seeks to plummet us into the depths of despair, a condition easy to fall into when you are physically challenged from being your parent’s full-time caregiver.

I know, because I’ve been doing it again – heaping all of Grandpa’s future care onto today. Lately, the load has been unbearable. Every time I see him lose strength, fear washes over me. I can’t lift or pull him up anymore without hurting myself, so I’ve stopped trying. The stress on my already compromised spinal cord is taking it’s toll – my weakness magnified by Grandpa’s frailness. I have to have one of the older kids help me at all times now. I wonder how I’ll make it in the future for I can only imagine what is coming – an even higher level of care then we give now.

Just yesterday, Grandpa couldn’t push himself up off the bed onto the walker. Then after lunch, he couldn’t push himself out of the wheelchair onto the walker to get into bed. I wasn’t about to pull him up, but I didn’t have to, because for the time being, Grandpa and I have figured out a way around his disability.

When we’re by ourselves, I wheel him into the bathroom and he pulls himself up on the bar by the toilet, then he turns around and grabs his walker. Then with my hand on his belt, he makes the laborious trip back to his bedroom to lay down and take a nap.

Sometimes he can’t move, though. I had to sing a rousing rendition of Stars and Stripes to get his feet moving – a nifty trick that caregivers use with Parkinson’s patients. Still, it took us about ten minutes to cover the 30 feet distance between the bathroom and his bed.

The following day, when I’m totally convinced that Grandpa is soon to be wheelchair bound, he shuffles off to the kitchen, full steam ahead like he’s in a race – and actually he is. It’s a race with a degenerative disease that no body can stop, except God. We arrive in the kitchen in record time – two minutes, instead of ten.

Once again, I’ve been fooled by Parkinson’s! One day your body works, the next it doesn’t, but who’s keeping track, right? Wrong. Parkinson’s has a nasty way of messing with my mind. I keep second guessing Grandpa’s symptoms and feel like I’m on an emotional roller coaster day in and day out. And the odd thing is, Grandpa seems to take it all in stride, even if his stride is only a tortoise’s pace. The slower he walks, the more I panic. Just how many tortoise and caregiver races are left before the tortoise has to  sit them out, permanently? Only God knows, that’s for sure.

One Day at a Time