The Confession
After more than fifteen years of caring for Hubby with both cognitive decline and three forms of cancer… after more than one hundred chapters written about this experience to share with others on this journey…it is confession time.
In spite of my total acceptance of Hubby’s condition, and regardless of whatever wisdom has been acquired which I try to share weekly, I am human. Last night was a disaster. Let me explain.
In spite of my intellectual understanding that Hubby does not like to eat a large meal in the evening, I had this beautiful plump chicken just begging to be cooked. Jamie Oliver’s fabulous one-pan-dinner recipe is so easy and all the ingredients were sitting, ready for action.
“Chick-chuk” (No clue where that saying came from, perhaps from one of Hubby’s British favorites, when one could just as easily have said “very quickly”) the pan was in the oven – fresh basil, baby potatoes, baby tomatoes, white cannellini beans, chicken pieces, an entire head of garlic cloves, salt, pepper and olive oil – guaranteed success.
Hubby was sleeping in his chair instead of watching the television screen as I intended. Our substitute aide arrived and gently chatted with him so that he could awaken to come to the dining table.
I cleverly created a plate for each of us, sparing the necessity to wash all the extra serving pieces. I was simply famished. Hubby was brought to the table and I placed the lovely dinner plate in front of him.
“What the hell is this mess?” he proclaimed.
It is delicious. I responded.
Two bites later…
“This is garbage. Why do you serve me food like this?”
It is not garbage… you need to eat.
“You must be joking!”
You need to eat. You are so skinny because you refuse to eat!
“And you eat everything in sight.” You guessed it, the insults came flying in my direction.
Do you not understand that if you do not eat, you will die? (My very sensitive response, of which I am ever so proud.) Do you WANT to die? Do you understand that you cannot survive without food!!!???
“You don’t care! You don’t care if I die!”
Of course, I care… that is why I want you to eat!
“Never!!!” Was his final verbal thrust.
My mature, calm response was to tell the substitute aide (who dons the lovely name of Fleur): “He is all yours! I am done here.” I stomped off a few meters to my hiding place around the corner to stop fuming.
Fleur stayed with Hubby and kept asking him what he would like her to make for him to eat. After the third such question, I called her name and asked her to come to me.
Do you not understand that asking him that question repeatedly is worthless? He CANNOT answer that question. His brain will not tell him what to say! (She smiled as though she understood, but she obviously was placating me.)
Hubby needed to be fed, so something foolproof was required. I gave her specific instructions as follows;
There is a loaf of American white bread. Take two slices, add peanut butter on one side and jam on the other. Put them together to make a sandwich. Serve it to Hubby with fruit on the plate.
She did as she was instructed. All was quiet on the home-front, a good sign. Twenty minutes later she reported that not only did he eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but that she made him coffee and gave him two ginger cookies as well.
Why can I not get it through my thick skull that Hubby eats like a four-year old now? Pizza, cookies, candy, eggrolls, spaghetti, fruit, ice cream, would all suffice for him. But not for me, and do I not matter as well?
This most embarrassing situation is being shared with you simply to make both of us feel better. I lose it, you lose it. We are human. It is impossible to constantly be in a gentle caring, mode. We have needs too. There are times when we cannot help but forget that the person with whom we are furious, even combative with, cannot control their actions or responses. It is okay. We too are fallible. Our loved one’s do not remember our fits of anger and we only do it because we care about them so much.
This is my confession. I am imperfect, short of patience, and my best is not quite good enough, but it is all I have to offer. I share this only because it is very possible that you or someone you know who is caring for a loved one, is not handling themselves according to normal every day reasonable behavior. I am giving you, as I am giving myself, permission to be imperfect. Our loved ones are lucky to have us paying attention to their every need. We are unsung heroes and I am singing our praises just the same!
