A Day Sort-of Off

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January 3, 2017

Tuesdays are mine. They belong to me to do with as I please. Tuesday is the most important day of my week.

I woke this morning--the last Tuesday before school starts and I'll have to get up to give a ride to orchestra because violins don't get to walk in the cold--at 9:50, which is ten minutes before my caregiver meeting. I decided to get up and go.

Tuesdays are caregiver meeting days. I sit at a table in a charming coffee house run by the hospice umbrella. They have all sorts of grief and support groups.

The first thing I learned is that I'm not a caretaker, but a caregiver. She's not dead yet, and she's not an estate (although, I do caretake the estate, and this group also advises me in this).

The second thing I learned is that caregiving is hard and frustrating and horrible and funny. I learned that it's okay to want to complain about having to care for someone, it's okay to talk about unmentionable things, and it's okay to admit the toll it takes on you. No one there is going to judge you for it. We've all been there. We all know. We're going to comfort you and give you advice on how to self care, and how to manage the frustrations and developments, and we're going to point you in the right direction when you have questions. And we know you're doing it out of love. No one becomes a caregiver of a family member for the money or the fame. We care because we do just that.

The third thing I learned is that the day you don't bring paper and a pencil is the day you need one.

Everything else about the caregiving group I learned in no particular order.

I've been going for over a year, now. The leader of the group has heard my story change over the past year, and the attendees have changed and returned and have suffered loss. I mean, this is a terminal illness, old age. People get old and die, and while they're getting old, they need care.

I get Tuesdays because it is the day we have hired a CNA to come to the house. She's supposed to bathe and attend to the Matriarch's health. She's a mandatory reporter so if anything goes awry (as it had before, when the daughter was in the house; so much elderly abuse) then she has to report it. She's also able to evaluate whether the Matriarch is eating, or if there is a major change in condition, or any other things. She leaves notes of recommendation and we try to incorporate it. She does light housekeeping and keeps company.

She also needs managed, though. Like the housekeeper that comes on alternate Wednesdays, I have to keep an eye on her and leave notes. We had to implement a "clean" "dirty" sign on the dishwasher because there are four people having the responsibility of dishwashing, and I can't vouch for the other two knowing how to tell if dishes are clean or dirty.  It sounds sad. It is. I left notes last week saying "Don't use washing machine: it's broken!" and found a very very very soaked load of laundry in there because she did it anyway. I left a note that said "No knives in dishwasher" and found a slew of the finer knives--you guessed it--in the freshly-run dishwasher. (Also the Princess Crystal, but I decided not to tell anyone about that. I'll just wash it all and put it away before people come. Best choice.)

The housekeeper and the CNA I would prefer not to have to manage, because Lord knows I already manage enough people in my life, but the freedom to leave the dirty dishes and never vacuum or fold laundry--this is mundane stuff I don't have to spend my time doing. I can give care without becoming a housekeeper in a second house. It's totally worth it. I don't have to do everything, I just have to make sure everything gets done.



Matriarch , self-care , support , Tuesday