Shifts
Pain Spectrum – dark red
BM/RD Index – 40
Fuzz meter – 9
Today might not be the best day for writing but I am crawling up the walls here in pain. I can’t find a position comfortable enough to prop myself up to hold a book and my concentration levels are crap anyway – even the TV is proving to be a bit much. It hurts to type, but no more so than trying something else I guess. And at least this way I feel like I am doing something. .
It rained today. I’ve been ping ponging pain-wise for the last week anyway, so this dampness was more than enough to tip me over to serious levels. Hopefully it won’t last too long. Especially seeing as K and I need to look after my aunt again for the weekend.
It is important for me to be able to take care of my aunt. Not just because I love and care about her, want to be able to contribute to the family, ease the burden, blah blah blah. No, it is important to me on a very selfish level. As I alluded to in the last post, I in no way want to admit that looking after an exceptionally well-fit nonagenarian woman is beyond my capabilities.
I think I’ve been pretty good lately with recognizing my slowly diminishing limitations; that even if I can no longer do things I was capable of a few years ago, I can still do an awful lot. Yet the idea of not being able to care for people really freaks me out. When we were looking after Hannah B, our 1-½ year old niece, I was completely overwhelmed. Not emotionally - the nice thing about growing up with a baby brother who was capable of psychologically destroying most mere mortals from just after birth is that kids don’t throw me – but physically. And forget about lasting a day. She killed me in an hour. There was one point, when we were waiting for K on the sidewalk, when she turned and ran. Thank G-d she ran on the sidewalk, because it took way too fucking long for me to catch her. K is gone for four minutes and comes back outside to find her screaming and wailing at me (she could probably feel that I was afraid to put her down, and so, of course, wanted me to let go) and me trying to hold her so that she can’t kick any more danger areas, nauseous and sweating from the pain of running her down, with images of her running left instead of right and into the street flashing in front of my eyes. Now, K and decided long ago that we weren’t having kids. That’s not what is going on here. I’ve known for some time I am not capable of raising children the way that I would wish. It isn’t even that huge of a deal: G-d or good fortune or genes has given me the boon of not really wanting children all that much and has matched me with a man who feels the same. But to not even be able to handle one day’s worth? This is not something I am okay with.
It is the same with my aunt. For her sake, I hope that we do not have to be looking after her round the clock for much longer. It is such an invasion of her privacy. Even hiring a night aid for a short time, which we are in the process of doing, probably will be easier on her than having us around. And although I am worried about her, I love the time I am getting to spend with her. It is not as if there is much to do. Answer phones, make some light food, prop pillows, hold the walker: it is all rather innocuous stuff. But taken together it adds up to a strain. Every time I come home from an overnight stay, I am weak and in pain. I am not sure why. Is it the stress of constantly being alert to someone else’s needs? Is it the more-than-normal getting up and down and around that I do when I am there? I have no answers.
These are not the questions that worry me anyway. I had always hoped that K and I would be the super-cool aunt and uncle who could sweep their little relatives away for some outrageous times - how the hell is that going to happen if I only can get a few hours in before having to go take a nap? Why on earth would my brother and in-laws trust me with their kids anyway, if I can’t keep up them? (The answer is, they shouldn’t. Not without K around. Sucks for K.) While I am not failing so dismally with my aunt as I did with Hannah, I am not doing all that great, either. If this is how I do now at age 34, with a relatively healthy (albeit elderly) woman, what is going to happen down the line as my parents age? What if something happens to K?
There was a moment in time, when I was still at the bank, when a death keel went off in my head. It was about two weeks or so before my final and ignominious collapse on the trading floor. I was pushing myself well past the limits of what I could really do physically. There was nothing new in this; I had been doing it for years. But this time, as I looked around the office, at the fluorescent lights that made you wince and the cubicles that were just not quite private enough for comfort and all those nasty pictures on the walls, something shifted in my head. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep it up for much longer, not this time. I was finally going to have to admit that there were things - many things as it turned out - that I could not do. Of course, I still muffed it: I’d thought I’d have a few months to try and pull out gracefully and not let everyone know that my body was calling it quits on the whole working thing, but that damn bell had probably been going off in my head for quite some time before I acknowledged it.
Thing is, I’m hearing this shift again. I first became aware of after I couldn’t catch Hannah. I have felt this shift, this perception change, a few times throughout my life, and I have not always reacted well to it – perhaps because it usually signals a change for the worse, body-wise. But I have not felt it since leaving the bank six years ago. Not even the accident, with all of its subsequent complications, brought it on.
What has changed? I don’t know. Maybe it is this: I had always hoped that if I stopped pushing my body to its limits, I’d at least be fit enough to take care of my loved ones if they needed me. But I am starting to see that, rest or push, I can’t take care of those I love, not really, and that I am actually a lot weaker than I let myself know. Perhaps there is something entirely different going on; perhaps I am just tired. I don’t know. But I’m scared.
BM/RD Index – 40
Fuzz meter – 9
Today might not be the best day for writing but I am crawling up the walls here in pain. I can’t find a position comfortable enough to prop myself up to hold a book and my concentration levels are crap anyway – even the TV is proving to be a bit much. It hurts to type, but no more so than trying something else I guess. And at least this way I feel like I am doing something. .
It rained today. I’ve been ping ponging pain-wise for the last week anyway, so this dampness was more than enough to tip me over to serious levels. Hopefully it won’t last too long. Especially seeing as K and I need to look after my aunt again for the weekend.
It is important for me to be able to take care of my aunt. Not just because I love and care about her, want to be able to contribute to the family, ease the burden, blah blah blah. No, it is important to me on a very selfish level. As I alluded to in the last post, I in no way want to admit that looking after an exceptionally well-fit nonagenarian woman is beyond my capabilities.
I think I’ve been pretty good lately with recognizing my slowly diminishing limitations; that even if I can no longer do things I was capable of a few years ago, I can still do an awful lot. Yet the idea of not being able to care for people really freaks me out. When we were looking after Hannah B, our 1-½ year old niece, I was completely overwhelmed. Not emotionally - the nice thing about growing up with a baby brother who was capable of psychologically destroying most mere mortals from just after birth is that kids don’t throw me – but physically. And forget about lasting a day. She killed me in an hour. There was one point, when we were waiting for K on the sidewalk, when she turned and ran. Thank G-d she ran on the sidewalk, because it took way too fucking long for me to catch her. K is gone for four minutes and comes back outside to find her screaming and wailing at me (she could probably feel that I was afraid to put her down, and so, of course, wanted me to let go) and me trying to hold her so that she can’t kick any more danger areas, nauseous and sweating from the pain of running her down, with images of her running left instead of right and into the street flashing in front of my eyes. Now, K and decided long ago that we weren’t having kids. That’s not what is going on here. I’ve known for some time I am not capable of raising children the way that I would wish. It isn’t even that huge of a deal: G-d or good fortune or genes has given me the boon of not really wanting children all that much and has matched me with a man who feels the same. But to not even be able to handle one day’s worth? This is not something I am okay with.
It is the same with my aunt. For her sake, I hope that we do not have to be looking after her round the clock for much longer. It is such an invasion of her privacy. Even hiring a night aid for a short time, which we are in the process of doing, probably will be easier on her than having us around. And although I am worried about her, I love the time I am getting to spend with her. It is not as if there is much to do. Answer phones, make some light food, prop pillows, hold the walker: it is all rather innocuous stuff. But taken together it adds up to a strain. Every time I come home from an overnight stay, I am weak and in pain. I am not sure why. Is it the stress of constantly being alert to someone else’s needs? Is it the more-than-normal getting up and down and around that I do when I am there? I have no answers.
These are not the questions that worry me anyway. I had always hoped that K and I would be the super-cool aunt and uncle who could sweep their little relatives away for some outrageous times - how the hell is that going to happen if I only can get a few hours in before having to go take a nap? Why on earth would my brother and in-laws trust me with their kids anyway, if I can’t keep up them? (The answer is, they shouldn’t. Not without K around. Sucks for K.) While I am not failing so dismally with my aunt as I did with Hannah, I am not doing all that great, either. If this is how I do now at age 34, with a relatively healthy (albeit elderly) woman, what is going to happen down the line as my parents age? What if something happens to K?
There was a moment in time, when I was still at the bank, when a death keel went off in my head. It was about two weeks or so before my final and ignominious collapse on the trading floor. I was pushing myself well past the limits of what I could really do physically. There was nothing new in this; I had been doing it for years. But this time, as I looked around the office, at the fluorescent lights that made you wince and the cubicles that were just not quite private enough for comfort and all those nasty pictures on the walls, something shifted in my head. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep it up for much longer, not this time. I was finally going to have to admit that there were things - many things as it turned out - that I could not do. Of course, I still muffed it: I’d thought I’d have a few months to try and pull out gracefully and not let everyone know that my body was calling it quits on the whole working thing, but that damn bell had probably been going off in my head for quite some time before I acknowledged it.
Thing is, I’m hearing this shift again. I first became aware of after I couldn’t catch Hannah. I have felt this shift, this perception change, a few times throughout my life, and I have not always reacted well to it – perhaps because it usually signals a change for the worse, body-wise. But I have not felt it since leaving the bank six years ago. Not even the accident, with all of its subsequent complications, brought it on.
What has changed? I don’t know. Maybe it is this: I had always hoped that if I stopped pushing my body to its limits, I’d at least be fit enough to take care of my loved ones if they needed me. But I am starting to see that, rest or push, I can’t take care of those I love, not really, and that I am actually a lot weaker than I let myself know. Perhaps there is something entirely different going on; perhaps I am just tired. I don’t know. But I’m scared.
posted by KS at 5:18 PM
3 Comments:
psychological support of the ones you love is way more important than physical support. listen to your body and give yourself a break. and for goodness sakes let some one take care of you for a change. As for kids, even with an Olympic athlete, there are times of overwhelming fear that the kid will dart into the street before one can catch him. so don't be too hard on yourself. If you'd like to take her out again, they do have kid harnesses for those toddlers. so you don't need to hold her the whole time and give her a limited range to safely explore. you can always take it off when you get to a safe playground with her and let her run wild. As for your aunt, it is probably the realilzation of the aging of someone you love more than the physical reality of taking care of her that wipes you out. That is the case for healthy people as well. do give yourself a break and get the rest you deserve.
Anonymous is on to some very good ideas here.
I'm the last person to tell you that "the pain is in your head" -- but things that ARE in your head can have an effect on you physically. You're worried about your niece, you're worried about your aunt, you're worried about your diminished or diminishing capacities and whether your pain is going to make you a prisoner for life. Right there you've got enough worries to be EXHAUSTED, no matter what condition you're in otherwise. And naturally when you're exhausted, your defenses are down and your buddy pain sees an opportunity to give you his accustomed whammies.
A yoga teacher used to exhort our class to "Be kind to yourselves." I'd laugh out loud (not good for yogic concentratrion) because I don't believe myself to be capable of that. You're a lot more sensible, though, and I hope you can manage to give yourself a break, because you're really beating yourself up here.
Your aunt adores you. You know this is true. It's a phenomenally close relationship. You're doing her a world of good just by spending time with her -- it means a lot to her. And that's an immense contribution to her well-being, as well as to the family dynamic.
Moreover, your aunt, and your nieces and nephews (eventually), will understand that you're not Wonder Woman. You're the only one who expects you to over-achieve here, and the only one who gets fearful and angry with you when you encounter your own limitations.
In future years, when you and K take the kids on amazing adventures (and you will), the kids aren't going to freak when you take a time-out or two. They're going to enjoy your company and your loving attention, no matter what you're doing together, and they're not going to insist that you go disco-dancing in a rainstorm just to prove your love for them.
You're doing an amazing job -- I hope you can see that.
(And P.S., this entry was gorgeously written.)
Can I just say that at almost 35, there are things that I could do when I was 30 that I can no longer do. For example, when I'm on the tennis court, I know that I can no longer run down every ball to win a point. So I know that I must think a little more than I used to about how to win points. As a consequence of my ever-growing physical incapacities, I am thinking, stategizing, analyzing on the court more and more. It's my belief that not only is this the evolution of my tennis game, it is also the evolution of our lives...as our bodies grow feeble, our minds gain strength.
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