You haven't lived until...

Friends, you haven't lived until you've wiped your Mother's ass.

Yes, I'm being profane and reaching for dramatic effect to a point, but I also mean it. There are depths of great joy in one's life -- falling in love, the day your children are born, publishing your first article in the New York Times -- and depths of great sadness, and I'm in the latter.  And perhaps one needs to experience both to really live.  I thought, guiltily, about when Mom and Dad leave next week, if they are well enough to travel, that "Life can get back to normal."  But this is life. It's just my turn to get the whole Magilla.

I will post further when Mom and Dad have left, but right now am busy looking at nursing homes and taking Dad from one doctor to another.  His digestive problem has gotten far, far worse and we fear something serious.  When it rains...

Stops and starts

Well, I finished the 5k at a somewhat respectable pace (31:14).  I probably could have knuckled down and finished even a bit better, but was distracted waving and halloo-ing at all the townfolk I knew in the race and cheering along the course. And slowing by the three glasses of wine I'd had the night before, I should add.

But what a tremendous feeling of accomplishment. I mean, who would think...stubby, lazy me, most at home curled up with a book, in a road race. People, if I can do it, anyone can. I can't wait for the next one, and am considering upping my distance to try for a 10k in the fall. Running rocks for stress, too.

And boy, do we got that. Dad was in the ER again this weekend for very painful digestive issues, and a scan revealed scars on his kidney.  Now, he's never been a drinker, and hasn't got hepatitis that we know of, and his symptoms hardly match liver disease, so we're chalking that up to the "lets not get worked up about this yet" category.  First, he's got to keep food down/in.  Priorities, priorities.  Liver disease?  That can wait until another day.

Their visit next week to give him a break and to start looking at assisted living/dementia care may have to be postponed, which is hugely disappointing and scary, because I really need to get in there and help.  Being a thousand miles away is frustrating, to say the least. One lovely thing is that a dear friend who happened to be in the area stopped by to check in.  The resulting warm feelings will keep us going for days - I know it meant a lot to my parents, too.  One act of human kindness goes a long way.

Running away from it all

As this blog is also hopefully being read by other caregivers, I would be remiss if I didn't mention again how helpful exercise has been for me in coping with all of this. It's well-documented that exercise helps with stress, and I found a bunch of articles specifically talking about caregiving - this one sums it up nicely.

I don't know how much bliss I can attribute to yoga versus running, because I began both simultaneously, and I do each about two-three times each week.  They complement each other nicely. Running helps get out some of the brutish, excitable, trembly kind of stress, while yoga does help me slow down the helpless, rapid-fire thoughts.  Physically, both are great for better muscle tone; while the running is aerobic and helps heart rate, the kind of faster-pasted yoga I'm doing - vinyasa - is also demanding physically.

For each, there's a sense of achievement, and clear progress, and I feel much, much less tired each day now than I did six months ago. (I also gave up meat, and that may have something to do with overall wellbeing. I do feel lighter, particularly in the gut area, get sick less, and have clearer skin.)  I look at these activities as my sanity pill, almost literally, and I'm selfish about getting that hour each day to invest in this. Meanwhile, a bunch of sample packs of antidepressants are gathering dust, awaiting the time I'm really desperate -- or, who knows, if I keep this up, I may make it through using just my legs and yogic mind.

Meanwhile, I am running my first 5K Sunday, so wish me luck.

The wake-up call

Earlier this week I got some bad news from Dad: He had intense pain in his lower belly. He had a doctor's appointment for the following morning, but that left us plenty of time to wonder. Was it a kidney stone?  Pancreatic cancer? A hernia? Would it involve an E.R. visit in the middle of the night (like the first time he had stones), or an operation? And if so, who would care for Mom, and how quickly could we get this care?

After considering these immediate problems, the bleak larger picture became apparent. If Dad gets sick, what then?  We have no family members able (or, alas, willing) to assist him and Mom other than myself; my husband works out of state, and abandoning his job would mean that I would most likely have to go back to work, at least more than my current haphazard freelancing - counterproductive in every respect. I do have friends who could help out with my kids for a few days or weeks, but beyond that, we would be in uncharted territory.  The kids and I could move in with them, but not until school's out, and until then, we have statewide school testing, ballet recitals, birthday parties, concerts and similar Huge Events.

In the meantime, I was utterly helpless, with nothing to do but to prescribe Advil, which somehow he had forgotten existed, worry, and call other people and make them worried. 

Without getting into specifics, we think that Dad's o.k. for the moment, but may have some stress-related digestive problems. Which may not be life-threatening, but could make his daily life even more miserable. He has help with Mom five days a week now, so that may help. Why do families live so far apart these days?  How fragile the whole setup is.  One unlucky break can unravel many lives.

Photo: Florida Repertory Theater