In the early days of caring for Robert full-time, my days unfurled in yawning monotony. Dreary, relentless, and unchanging, repetitive tasks crowded my waking hours. I found no mental stimulation in completing these duties, no satisfaction in a job well done. My partner of 37 years could offer no helping hand or nod of appreciation.
No longer a partner
Robert never asked how I was doing. He could not. His executive function was so diminished he could not plan the activities of his own day. He could not surprise me with a spontaneous invitation to dinner out. He could not offer to assist in balancing the checkbook or paying the bills. It never occurred to him to help with the, now daily, laundry. He could not catch me passing by and give me a hug or a kiss. The Robert I had grown to love and rely upon was gone. I was alone, wallowing in my tedium.
I have never found fulfillment in domestic pursuits. Why I thought I would suddenly find reward in endless shifts of cooking, cleaning, and caregiving is beyond me. In retrospect, I am mystified by my naivety.
The big takeaway
I offer this perspective as a cautionary tale for other would-be caregivers who have never actually made a life of 24/7 attention to another’s needs for years on end, but still believe they can rise to the occasion. May you have all the blessings of a Taoist mind and the zen-like fortitude of a warrior. You’re going to need these attributes.
And while this is a cautionary tale for some, it is a full-throated cry of warning to others.
Know thyself!
This is critically important. If you are a driven, goal-oriented person, caregiving may not be for you. If you have always worked with others, and enjoy the conversation, accomplishment, and camaraderie of your work-life, caregiving may not be for you. If you take great delight in the completion of projects with tangible results, you may not take to cooking and cleaning every day, all day, until your loved one passes.
So if you are not caregiver material, what then?
Facing reality
After 2 ½ months of being home with Robert, I was depressed and angry. Every day, I wished for an end to this stasis. I wanted desperately to walk out of my life. And I felt guilty for wishing to leave. I could not stay at home and care for Robert and continue to be a sane person, engaged in the world. How could I live in joy with my family when I was so wrenched with angst and contorted into this unrecognizable person, someone I was never meant to be? The arrangement could not continue. I was not, am not, caregiver material.
But even if I had a caregiving nature, was I obligated to give up my life for Robert’s? This is the moral question with which I struggled repeatedly. My answers would inform the next several years of my life.
Thanks so much for the insights. I also never felt cut out to be a care giver. Some of this is so familiar to me, though my experience was so different. My husband’s mind was sharp, but his body was failing. This country is failing in caring for the elder population.
Thank you for sharing your perspective, Dena. I agree with you. It’s heartbreaking the myriad ways we fail our seniors.