Some days are full of struggles with Mom.
She needs to go to the bathroom but she doesn’t want my help. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. I have to support her any time she moves from her chair. She’s ready to eat but doesn’t want me to feed her. Again, this is not an option as I need to prepare the food, plate and serve it, and often, spoon it into her mouth.
Although the Exogen treatment hasn’t proven effective in healing her bone, her caregiving team has decided it’s still worth the effort if only to check the skin underneath. Today she didn’t want the treatment. She kept lifting her shoulder and making the application of the device difficult. Once the treatment was finished, she wrestled with me about the brace. I repeatedly asked her to keep her shoulder still and she argued that she wasn’t moving her shoulder.
Mom’s first line of disagreeableness is tears. I think she’s been able to control Dad emotionally by crying most of their married life. Even now, she can still work him into a heartbreaking point of defeat by her tears. Unfortunately, I’ve not ever been one for manipulative tears. I can cry with those who are truly mourning but not with emotional outbreaks. It has an opposite effect on me; I dig my heals in a bit deeper and stand my ground even more firmly.
This is probably where Mom and I went awry in my youth. I have mentioned before that Mom was menopausal as I was going through puberty. World War III happened at our house. Now, 35 years later, we play out the same struggle. If her tears don’t coerce me into doing what she wants, she’ll get mad. She gets angry, obstinate, and mean.
Today she fought me on every turn. When I asked why, she said, “Because you’re hurting me.” Although she claims it to be a physical harm, the truth is I’m going against her wishes. She doesn’t want to need help. She doesn’t want me to put that blanket over her. It reminds me so much of a toddler saying, “I’ll do it myself.”
Just like moms of toddlers, I get weary – bone-tired, exhausted weary. I remember as a young mom thinking I might not survive this crazy, exhausting time. I knew they would eventually grow up and be able to care for themselves, but caregiving is the reverse. Mom’s losing more ability and she won’t regain it. Although I know it is a season and “this too will pass,” I put myself in time-out in the midst of struggles so I don’t lose patience with her.
One of the best things about dementia is the inability of the patient to hold on to feelings and emotions. Thankfully, once she’s left alone for a while, she forgets about her anger with me. She’s back to her usual precious self. I wish I could move on as easily.
Thus it came to pass. (Remember that it never comes to stay!) Struggles are only a moment in the grand scheme of things. The struggle is real, though, and for many caregivers, relentless.
