Eleven years and twenty days ago, my mother passed away from complications associated with stage-IV ovarian cancer. For the five years preceding her death, my siblings and I faced a constant string of challenges concerning her care and quality of life.
The seemingly endless undercurrent of stress cut through my life in a unique way, affecting my ability to do my full-time job and then my home schooling responsibilities, and my communication and relationship with my husband and children. It was the first time I found myself in the role of child and caregiver. At the time, I didn't know how I was going to make it through the maze of sorting out the constantly changing details of her care and finances, and the completely unchanging fact that she had terminal cancer unless God intervened in a miraculous way. I muddled through, doing what I could and feeling guilty for everything I didn't do, whether I could actually have performed the task at hand or not.
Now, so many years later, I find that my mother's illness and death were just the beginning of the learning curve for me. In the past four years, I have picked up two other parents, my mother-in-law and stepfather-in-law, as people to whom I am required to give some level of care and attention on a weekly, if not daily, basis. I was managing, mostly, to do an adequate job there and still keep up with my own chosen/homegrown family of husband and two boys. Though, if you ask those I live with, the stress was showing in my fatigue and "stress temper."
This past month, I have accelerated into full overload, and this time, it's not a case of how I am going to make it through, but IF.
My uncle who live 10 hours away by car, through a series of unfortunate events, years of semi-care by medical professionals, and lack of ability for us to be more present fixtures in his life, arrived in front of death's door one Tuesday in late August. We headed out to see what we could do, preparing for the worst. I wrote a rough draft obituary on the plane. The doctors didn't offer much hope and encouraged us to follow his wishes on his medical directive to remove him from life support. Yet, as this was happening, he grew in strength every day, though at a minimal level. We decided to give him a fighting chance.
After a little over three weeks in ICU, he has transferred to another section of the hospital to a lower level of care. But, he still isn't entirely out of danger. He just isn't on life support any more. Every minute of every day, no matter what else is happening, I can't pretend that I don't know his recovery hangs in the balance and that I, as one of the agents on his Medical Power of Attorney and the primary contact for the hospital because I am able to answer my phone during more hours of the day, am somehow tied to this event in an inescapable way.
The stress is having its way with me. My life is different now, much more full, than it was sixteen years ago when we went through a similar journey with my mother. I don't want to whine. No one is shooting at me. My nation isn't in the midst of a violent revolution. I can go to church or not as I please. I have enough money to go to the grocery store and buy what I want from the myriad of choices in each department. But that's all rationality talking there. Stress gets in where the mind fails. It attacks on a deep emotional, physical, and spiritual level.
The usual cures for stress aren't working. Rest: sure, if I can escape the horrific dreams. Exercise: sure, except I've been sick and slightly feverish since returning from the five-day trip to see him in the hospital and direct his care. Diet: sure, when I feel up to eating, which when the hospital calls as I'm cooking dinner seems to ruin my appetite for the evening. Talking to family and friends: sure, and this one has helped a bit, except when people need to hear enough of the story to understand my uncle's plight and then I just don't want to go into all the details again because it sets my heart racing. Finding time for myself: sure, except the older folks in my care have a crisis and there is no one else to help. I can't just let them suffer. Taking it one day at a time: sure, except that rationale only keeps from adding more stress; it doesn't alleviate the stress already bubbling under the surface.
I have hope for many things but it is hard to hold on to.
It's been just under a month, and I am already done in. I don't think I can survive five more years like this.
