I am 68, and have a few medical issues of my own (big one of fairly recent development). I came back here 12 years ago to originally see that she was able to stay in her own home and to 'look after her'. Since then her condition has deteriorated and my role has become caregiver 24/7. Should any adult male be happy pulling down his mother's pants so that she can go to the potty?There is no family around here who can help (at least that I can even possibly count on and trust) or her friends (who are mostly either dead or as old as she is) to help, we have no church or organizational affiliations to step in, her doctor approved hospice and they have been good for her and even have some limited resources for me for brief times out of the house, otherwise it is just me. If I had to take her to a nursing home it would have to be under physical restraints. By the way, everyone compliments me on how well I care for her, even her.
The problem is that everyone from mom to relatives to the hospice nurses treat me in reality like some sort of ancient family retainer or servant or fathful hound or something and I am completely disregarded, even though they effect a sincere-sounding attitude of concern. I am not talking about some free bone occasionally with the offer of a couple hours off, I am talking about a total attitude that my entire reason for being is just to care for mom, that I should be so happy to have my "dear mother" with me still, that "warm and fuzzy".feelings about being a caregiver are supposed to be enough. I do not feel "warm and fuzzy", my mom is not the "cookie-baking grandma" that everyone thinks she is. There is no time to form any local relationships here, even if I did meet someone I like to spend time with, I do not have the time so spend. Even to keep the appointments for hospice etc., they usually want to come at a time which I can get out of the house for a few minutes. When there are no appointments I am only too glad to collapse on the sofa and take a nap! but even that is not possible some days. I am tired, my back aches, and my nerves are freyed. If I were to have the operation that it is suspected I will be needing I do not know when I could scheule in the recouperation time. I recently had a weekend visit by my nephew, her grandson who lives at a long distance and I was more like a deskclerk and short order cook than an uncle. I was happy to see him leave, and I hate that. Life has just become one dreary day after another.
For a year my Mother was lived with us. My husband and I planned a trip away for a long weekend. It was our first getaway in a couple of years because of finances. I told her the caregiver would be here overnight as we needed a break and to have some fun. She couldn't care less, as she was at that point in her dementia progression: world closing in, rediscovering belly button, as it were. She said, "Oh, then you won't be HERE. What about ME?" You do not want to know what I said under my breath, but THAT was IT!!! Within the next month, I found a place I could trust, and moved her into it. I did not visit her for 2 weeks, and she settled in and has other people she is fixated on. It's like a cat--whoever feeds it becomes its' owner. Your Mother will do the same, and probably try to make you jealous.
Listen, we are in charge of our children for a time to teach them, protect them, and hopefully, we send them out into the world not needing us. We don't let them run our lives as they are growing up, or it would ruin THEM. On the other end, now we are responsible for our elderly parents, and for some reason, they get away with that which they would NOT let us get away with! Get your life back, DT. Hugs:)
I am 66. I have been full-time caregiver for 8 years. What you are saying about only being seen as a caregiver really stikes a chord with me. Especially at the beginning, friends would say, "Take care of yourself! If you don't keep up your health you won't be able to take care of him." Wait a cotton-pickin' minute! Last year I was a friend and you'd want me to take care of myself because I am worthy of being taken care of, and now you only care about my ability to care for someone else? What happened to ME!" Even professionals would say this. It drove me nuts. It was as if I ceased to exist in my own right. I was asking one doctor to change my diabetes medication because the one I was on gave me severe episodes of low blood sugar. He was reluctant to change. I described an incident where I was in a shopping center with my husband and nearly passed out. "Oh that's right. You are a caregiver. I'd better give you something less likely to cause extreme lows." Argghh! I got what I wanted but not for my sake -- for that of the person I care for.
My situation is quite a bit different than yours, but in this one aspect, this loss of self, I can really related to you. Other caregivers in my local support group have mentioned this too.
I am caring for my husband (which I think has a different flavor than caring for a parent) and we are in our home of many years. I have some family nearby. I have my same friends (though I don't get to see them as much). I go to my same bookclub each month. I work full-time, from home, which is often a hardship, especially with recent health issues, but it is very good interact with coworkers who see me as a valuable contributor to a team effort. They know about my caregiving but it is not primarily how they think of me. At the Mayo Clinic caregivers are treated as the important part of the care team that we are, and shown respect. Even with all this going for me, I still know quite well that feeling of being regarded as a nonentity in my own right.
I say this was worst at the beginning. By now everyone who knows me knows better than to treat me that way. Strangers (mostly professionals) still do sometimes, but I generally can turn that around. I agree with Chirstina that part of the problem probably is "people are meeting your expectations according to what you project." But I also know that people have their own expectations and often have to be reeducated about what to expect from you. Changing your own expectations of how they should treat you is a necessary step, but please do not hear this as a criticism or that this is all your fault.
You can't go back and re-make the decision that brought you far from friends, or the decision to do all the care yourself, and to not work, etc. etc. You are where you are and you can only try to figure out what is best going forward.
Your mother is on hospice care, which must mean a doctor has said she is not expected to live more than a half a year or so. Of course such predictions cannot have a high accuracy rate in all cases. Do you feel that your mother is in the end stage and will not live many more months? I think that would color what I would do. You have cared for her at home for 12 years, and to place her in a facility now to die might not seem the best choice of either of you. But if the present situation is too much for you, there is no shame in acknowledging that and acting on it. Does this hospice organization have their own facility where your mom could be kept comfortable through this final part of the journey? I have heard wonderful reports of hospice houses. True, Mom might not be happy about that, but if it is the best option for her and for you, grit your teeth and do it.
It sounds like you are near the end of this long journey you have been on, one way or the other. I hope you are beginning to think about what you will do when you emerge from that long tunnel into the light you can glimpse at the end. Will you stay where you are? Is it a suitable community for you once you have time to get to know people and live your own life? Or will you sell the house and move back to your old environment? Are your old friends still there? Is the ambience there more compatiable with how you'd like to live. Will you be recieving an inheritence? How does that impact your plans? I don't expect an answer to these questions -- it is none of my business -- but I hope you are thinking ahead and building plans to look forward to.
Take care of yourself, DT, because you are a valuable, unique individual, fully worthy of the best care you can get. Again, hugs to you!
Anyway, I meant no criticism, and I sincerely wish you well as you struggle with this tough road we're on.
As I read your post, I kept thinking of onions and icebergs; and trying to focus on what's underneath the surface. On this site, there's a lot more going on than what people are telling about their lives as caregivers. A few times I've had to take the foot out of my mouth for being so free an easy with the advice. After all, I'm not there to see what you and many others here are really going through. With my words, I try to paint pictures of my world; but at the same time, as I read every post, I try to picture what yours is like. Sometimes I laugh; sometimes my heart feels like it's shrinking, and try as I may not to get emotional those cleansing tears always get their way. ... Sometimes I'm amazed at the resilience of people for whom, like you, surrender is never an option.
Yesterday, during a case conference, I presented John Doe's chart. I reminded the staff that the chart is not the person and stated that I wished he were there to take part in the decision-making that might fundamentally impact his life if he decides to remain a client. AIDS, Hep. C, schizophrenia, incarcerated 1/2 his life, no family, no support system, victim of repeated rapes while in prison. To top it all off, a vicious addition to Ketamine and "Speedballs" (a mixture of heroin & cocaine).
Instead of focusing on how to help this individual, they zeroed in on what I was not doing to help him even though every service I've provided is documented and followed up on. "Maybe you've bitten more than you can chew," "You should do this, you should do that," "Why didn't you come to me for help," etc., etc.. There was a male colleague who indirectly told me I wasn't man enough for the job. I reminded them ours is a methadone clinic, and that it was clear this client needed a higher level of care. Someone said I just wanted the easy way out.
I picked up the chart from the table and put it in the hands of every counselor who didn't think I'm doing the best I can with this client. All I said was "I'm looking for volunteers. Anyone who thinks s/he can do a better job is more than welcome to this case." No one wanted to take it, yet kept shooting their flytraps; this time with "It's not what you said but how you said it," blah, blah, blah.
For about 5 minutes after that, the only sound was their breathing. They kept looking at me as if expecting me to say something else they could pounce on. "Next time you have the audacity to criticize my work, be ready to walk a mile in my shoes. The farthest you're going to get is 1/2 a block. Maybe."
Somebody whispered "Arrogant" from the back of the room. I looked at her and asked if she wanted to ask a question. She said no. I closed with "One thing I don't do is celebrate mediocrity, so what you might call arrogance I call confidence. My clients are the purpose of my day, and that's all that matters. ... Now, does anyone have any suggestions about how to help this man reclaim his life?"
No cigar.
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