Chapter 17. Three Weeks After

The temporary shunt was placed three weeks ago today. It seemed that it made a difference so the plan to place the permanent one was offered. And accepted.

There has been a difference. GB’s walk is better. The incontinence seems to be better. The cognition is likely the same, although it wasn’t terribly terrible before the surgery. It’s been three years since GB was diagnosed with mild cognitive decline and he hasn’t seemed to get worse. I take that as a good sign. He continues to read voraciously, do puzzles and watch sci fi movies. He’s always loved those. When we were first married, he insisted I watch the great sci fi of the 1950’s: The Blob, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Godzilla. I discovered Plan 9 from Outer Space, considered by experts to be one of the worst film ever made.

In the early days of our marriage, we smoked. So we’d rent a movie, settle in, smoke cigarettes and watch sci fi, good and bad. We both stopped smoking on November 4, 1985. I still would if I could. GB says he never thinks about it. I outgrew the bad sci fi, he never did. In fact, as I type this he’s watching a new series, War of the Worlds. I reminded him that he saw the original, the remake, the next remake and the last remake. Doesn’t matter. He’ll watch this one too. His explanation has always been the same I just want to see the monster.

I’ve learned a few things through this process. First, I’ve learned that I really do suck at this. I am a terrible caregiver. I have no patience. I get bored with the daily tedium. I keep thinking about how my life has been impacted by this. I want to go skiing, he’s worried I’ll get hurt and then, who will take care of him? Who’ll take care of me? I’m not worried about it but he is. He thinks it’s unfair of me to ski because it puts him at risk. I want to go to Hungary next summer to visit family. Will I be able to leave him at home to take care of the animals? He doesn’t want to go and I pretty much don’t want him to because he’ll slow me down. See? I’m a terrible caregiver and an even worse person. That’s my dark side.

Second, I’ve learned I have a bright side. Aging is a lonely business. But it doesn’t have to morph into isolation. I’ve learned the importance of community. By community, I mean friends, neighbors and family. I organized a small support group several months ago. There are three of us and interestingly enough, our spouses have similar personalities. They are all naive, gullible, gentle, and kind. The three of us are assertive, independent, and exist on the patience spectrum. We meet at a coffee shop every Thursday and talk about pretty much anything from our personal frustrations to the screwed up roads in Denver. The three of us are familiar with the loneliness of caregiving. Having two women who are sharing experiences similar to my own is a Godsend. We listen without criticism. We share our common attitudes towards our spouses. We are brutally honest about our own failures and misgivings. We don’t shame one another for unpleasant or unloving thoughts.

Gerontology experts say that four things impact positive aging: attitude, diet, exercise and community or socialization. Our relationship with friends and family is complicated. GB is social; I am not. I reach out to people to arrange activities; GB does not. I am the first to leave a party; GB is the last. I talk to strangers; GB does not. I believe in trust but verify; GB just trusts. I’m spontaneous; GB suits up for any activity.

Since August, GB has been either hospitalized or homebound. The freedom to be spontaneous; go to an opera, a movie, a concert; to take a walk, hike, snowshoe or drive any distance ended. And it ended abruptly. I couldn’t bring back the things we used to do, but I could bring some of our social life inside. I issued a call for support with the following plea: please drop by with lunch or dinner and stay for conversation. Or just come for a few hours and talk. Now, we all have experienced times when we’ve been sick or suffered a loss and people say If there’s anything I can do, just let me know. Well, I decided to let them know :

I’m tired of cooking three meals a day.

I’m exhausted taking care of the house, the garden, the dogs, the chickens.

I’m tired of driving to doctor’s appointments.

I’m bored reading, binging, playing Scrabble, playing Backgammon.

The thought of cleaning out one more box of memorabilia is driving me over the edge.

What can you do? Come over for a visit! Bring a lunch or dinner. Nothing has to be fancy. We really just want your company.

And, it worked! Friends and family began bringing meals and company! Neighbors became available to help with heavy lifting, like moving furniture. For the past few months, people have dropped in two to three times each week. We sit and talk. GB describes his surgery. We talk about politics, history, aging, grief, families, travels and sometimes just gossip.

I began to notice that not only GB felt better, more motivated, less agitated, but I felt calmer and more able to handle the daily stresses of life unhinged. My days, once seemingly endless, have filled with structure: animal care in the morning and at sunset, errands before noon, a walk, maybe a game or two with GB or blogging and clearing out junk collected over 48 years in this house in the afternoon, dinner and a few hours of binging.

Bringing a social life back home wasn’t something I thought would change my own attitude towards aging and caregiving. But, damn if those experts were’t right. Best part? I have an answer for anyone who says Is there anything I can do?

AI Generated! Women with Newfies.