Your Dying Spouse 57 - In-laws and Outlaws

We're linked with Wedded Wednesday at the wonderful Messy Marriage site - check it out for great marriage resources!

"It's your fault that my child is sick! Your (fill in the blank) caused this illness, and you're not taking good enough care of her/him!"

Yes, some in-laws really do say that when your husband or wife - their child, whom you wooed away from the family's safe embrace - develops a serious or life-threatening illness.

And if they don't say it...many think it.

Thankfully, there are also many in-laws who are nothing but supportive, and who provide both practical assistance and an emotional refuge for the caregiving spouse. My father-in-law and my late mother-in-law were absolute bricks; wonderful, caring people who knew the right things to do before we knew we needed them. (If you are also blessed in this way, won't you share your story in the comments?)

But for the rest of the world, it can seem like a cross between the Alamo, the Spanish Inquisition, and the Jerry Springer Show.

You're doing your best, and you're second-guessed at every turn.

You're exhausted but still have to face in-depth interrogation from 'concerned' family members.

"We're her family, after all...we know her." Oh, really? She left home for college at eighteen, and we've been married for twenty-four years, and she sees you around three times a year...well, so obviously I don't know her better. Sheesh.

Yourlifestyle is called into question..."Those late hours you keep, trying to get ahead of everyone at work...I could see how much strain that caused for our poor child, having to keep your dinner warm until nine or ten some nights!"

"I told you you shouldn't get a dog. Our boy was allergic to cats when he was a child. That's why we never had pets."

As you can see, both courtesy and logic will be shown the door. Respect for privacy was never admitted in the first place.

So, what to do? (No, you can't have them deported.)

The most important part of dealing with a difficult family is to present a united front. You speak for your husband; he speaks for you. You support one another's decisions in public, even if privately you think they're wrong. A visible disagreement leaves a gap into which a verbal and moral wedge can be driven, splitting you apart...and believe me, there are families that would love to take that opportunity, terminal illness or no.

Second, don't over-share. We live an an age of information overload, and it's made many of us accustomed to sharing details of our life that we would have kept private twenty years ago.  Unless there's a reason to know the details of treatment, there is no reason for someone outside your marriage to be 'kept up-to-date'.

There are exceptions; a change in prognosis, or a treatment that will result in visible effects (like chemotherapy or radiation, or...obviously...surgery) is an appropriate piece of information to share...but be clear that you're not putting it out for debate.

Encourage visits, but don't have an open-door policy. You may one day need the help of even difficult relatives, and need it badly. You don't want to drive them away; they're not the enemy, and they do have love for your spouse, their child or sibling, even if their way of showing it grates on your nerves.

Be compassionate. You're not the only one who's losing someone. Their knowing that they can and should only be at some remove merely makes it harder for them.

Your Dying Spouse 56 - To Avoid Going Mad...

Being a caregiver will eat you alive, if you let it...and not to let it, you've got to be proactive.

Your terminally ill mate will probably want to stay in the workforce as long as possible, and you should encourage this.

Dying is above all demeaning; the process of a slow death takes away so many of the things that give us self-respect and a feeling of self worth (and the right kind of pride) that anything one can do to combat or at least delay the process is helpful.

But one day, he or she will be home for good...and you will become the primary social contact, and the sole-source for physical and emotional care.

It's natural, and expected...I mean, you didn't marry not to be the support when the "or worse" part of the vow comes to call, right?

But it's still hard, and it's draining. You may literally have someone following you around the house while you're doing chores, or insisting on going to the store with you when yo'd always shopped for groceries and clothing alone.

And you'll want to scream. Not because he or she is unpleasant, You'll want to scream because they're always there, and there are times when all of us need privacy; shopping or vacuuming alone is where we build it in.

To be blunt, they're trespassing on the parts of life that are subconsciously staked out as yours,

You can't diplomatically turn them away without hurting feelings, sometimes quite badly. But what you can do is encourage other activities that will provide a form of respite care that will benefit your spouse, and will benefit you.

The simplest way to do this is to simply encourage interests (within reason). If your husband picks up a magazine on fly-fishing, and allows how he might like to learn to tie flies, don't denigrate it, even if you loathe both fishing and fish. It's a cheap hobby, and even if he can no longer go out to fish himself he can develop[ friendships with people who do...and maybe he can supply them with custom-tied flies.

It will keep his head 'in the game' that much longer, and keep him connected with the world. All for the cost of fishhooks, twine, feathers, and some small tools.

A pet can help, too. Perhaps you've been too busy to get a dog, but your wife grew up with them...and now she's more homebound than not.

The house gets awfully lonely when you're the only one there, and you can't leave. I know; thatis where I am today.

The sound of canine footsteps, the happy bark, even the "Uh, Rufus? Don't lift your leg...uh, there...oh, crap" add life to the world.

And little (or big) Rufus will take the burden into his furry shoulders. (Yes, we have a Rufus; he's a Jack Russell.)

It's easy to fall into dependency, and hard to crawl back out. With a little bit of thought and foresight, you can improve quality-of-life for both your spouse and yourself.

And who knows? You may decide to take up fly-fishing...accompanied to the stream by..."Uh, Rufus? No, please, don't eat the fis...oh, well. More where that one came from, I reckon."

We're linked to Inspire Me Monday and Wedded Wednesday.

Your Dying Spouse 55 - Still the Same, and Not {FMF}

Five Minute Friday again, hosted by Kate Motaung, and the keyword is SAME.

Also linked to Wedded Wednesdays at Messy Marriage.

Execute.

As I write this, I do not know how to go on. Pain's reached a level where the day is turning into a series of snapshots, artillery illuminating a dark landscape, occasional words cutting through static on my headset, Flares dropped from a circling helicopter.

Muzzle flashes, and tracer's probing fingers in the night.

I still have the same hopes, the same dreams. I'm not so different from you. I'm not pried completely away from life.

Not yet.

But the defenses are starting to fold, and I have to find a way to shore them up, and keep going. I have not the same strength I had.

Something's broken.

I need breathing space, a time to heal, a place to bind wounds and catch breath.

The same dreams are there, and I want to go on. I have to go on. I don't want to lose me.

But I can't stop the pain. In tears - it hurts.

And so, God, you've got to pick me up. You, and the arms and hearts that make up Your body in this world.

You've got to carry me through this dread field of steel rain, to where I can rest in defilade again.

To be the same. To still be me.

Is that too much to ask?

Please!

Endex.

This was not easy. None of it is.

Headlights - #BlogBattle

Here's our entry for this week's #BlogBattle, hosted by the gracious and lovely Rachael Ritchey.

The keyword is HEAD.

Here we go...

Headlights

Another muggy day in Viet Nam, but the discomfort was dispelled somewhat by the fact that, in the interest of crew cross-training, Sonny was driving. His throttle foot didn't seem to have any intermediate settings between off and full, so we were getting a nice breeze, and setting a new M48 land speed record.

A VW could easily outpace us, but a VW doesn't weigh 50 tons, so it felt pretty good.

We were on the return leg of a scissors sweep; we'd be met by the New Guy Tank, outbound, at the hinge, halfway home. The thick air didn't keep down the dust, but it sure made it stick to us, and the dust being a reddish-ochre, it made us look like the Mechanized Sioux. Watch out, Custer!

The Dude was sitting on the edge of the loader's hatch, Sonny's usual travel perch. It too loud to talk, but he suddenly grabbed my shoulder and pointed behind me.

A grunt platoon was clustered on the far side of a paddy field, by a deserted ville, but one of the yokels was splashing toward through the young shoots and water and nightsoil, waving and shouting.

"Driver, halt," I said into the mike, but Sonny was ahead of me, and was already slowing the tank and easing it toward the side of the road.

"I'll see what he wants, TC." The Dude vaulted part me, direct from the turret roof to the ground. Eleven feet.I was impressed.

Over the idling engine I heard snatches of conversation, and then The Dude's voice, high-pitch in horror. "He's got a leech WHERE???"

He turned to look at me, eyes wide, and an unusual procession set out toward us from the ville, bearing a figure aloft. The figure was naked from the waist down, and its legs were spread wide.

The Dude ran back to the tank, and climbed up. To my question, he nodded, and said, "Yeah, TC. Half in, half out."

"Ugh." I shuddered.

"Well, that's not the worst of it. He tried to smear bug juice on it, but that didn't work. No one had a dry cigarette, so they thought C4 would work instead." You can boil a cup of water in about thirty seconds by setting a tiny piece of C4 alight, It won't blow up; it needs a detonator to do that. Well, usually.

I nodded. "That may not have been the best thing to do."

"No, TC, it wasn't. The C4 lit off the bug juice, and burned him pretty well, while the leech went pretty much the only place it could to get away. This kid's got to go to BAS; they've got a surgeon waiting."

The patient was being gently slid onto the front-right fender. The headlights had long-since been ripped away by something long-forgotten,, so the fender was actually a pretty good place to carry him. Even though the kid was heavily doped, he was holding his legs wide apart. The affected area was several shades of red, ranging from claret to scarlet.

Sonny was watching from the driver's hatch. "Why don y'all put 'im ass-fahwahd? Get some ahr cundishunin whar he done need it?"

"Makes sense," I said. The grunt LT had come up to the tank, and when I looked at him, he nodded.

"You can't get him down the turret, I'd imagine." He spoke with the patrician tones of Harvard Yard; it was kind of a treat to the ears.

"No, sir," I said "I wouldn't even want to try. Would you?" I just wanted to hear him talk again; after months of boonie rap, it was a cool glass of water miraculously appearing in the Sahara.

"No, sergeant, I find that I agree with you. I'd rahthah you keep him on the fender. I'll detail one of my boys to help hold him in place." He waved a young PFC forward, and boosted the boy onto the tank. "There you go, son. Hold a place for us at the bar, won't you?" 

He nodded to me, and the rest of his men followed him back across the paddy.

The PFC looked around nervously. "I ain't not ever never been on a tank before, sir...what do you want me to do?"

"I'm not a sir," I replied.

"He hasn't been knighted yet," said The Dude, "But I have. You can call me Sir."

The PFC's eyes were wide. "Uh, ok...sir."

Sir Dude continued, "Just make sure he doesn't slide down the front of the tank, or get dumped over the side. If he does he'll get hung up in the sprockets, and that's a real mess to clean up."

The PFC gulped, and nodded. He was very young. He had to learn fast, that life was cheap here, and death was always worth a laugh. He sat down next to his...well, not wounded, but very unwell friend, and I told Sonny to start off again...but not like he was trying for a 0-60 record. We couldn't do much over 45, anyway. On pavement.

The start was surprisingly gentle, and we'd gone about a mile, almost within sight of the hinge where we'd meet New Guy Tank, when The Sir Dude had an idea. "TC," he said. "want to play with the New Guys' heads?"

The return sweep was like going downhill, and I was happy. "Sure."

"You know the meurochrome in the aid kit..."

Within a few minutes we had a mildly protesting but giggling Biff reddened and emplaced on the left fender.  The Dude jumped off the glacis, rad a few yards, then turned around. 'Beautiful! Red headlights!"

The PFC said, "Y'all tankers are crazy. Y'all know that?" But he was smiling, too. Leech Guy was in Morphia's warm embrace, and couldn't know of the extent of his participation in our little joke, so The Dude got his beloved Leica out and took a few pictures, to be mailed to Leech Guy's parents, for them to hold for his return. We prided ourselves on our considerate nature.

The timing was perfect. We were underway again, Biff holding tight, when New Guy Tank came into view.

"Driver, slow down, let's give them the best show in town."

I could see New Guy TC glassing us with his binocs. The Dude took ours and glassed him in return.

Then he said to me in a n ominously casual tone, "TC, I think that's the Boss."

The figure in the commander's cupola still had the binocs to his eyes, and as the distance closed I could see he was eyeing our new accessories.Then he lowered the glasses, and yeah, it was the company CO.

The Boss had taken one of his rare jaunts outside the wire; he didn't like to go far, because the corncob that nature had apparently placed up the chuff made travel difficult.

There was a rumour that he'd smiled once, at the end of Old Yeller. I expected him to stop us, and perhaps shoot us pour l'encouragement les autres

But no. The New Guy Tank glided past us on the left, gleaming through its coat of road-dust, Biff waved to The Boss; the occupant of the gunner's hatch had dropped down, to save his innocent eyes from the sight.

The Boss turned his head as we passed, and I turned mine, maintaining the eye contact that made me feel like a tiger's next meal.

And then the New Guy Tank stopped. The Boss disappeared into the turret, no doubt to bring out the hand weapons, and perhaps some light line to use to bind us.

"Driver, halt." Sonny eased us to a stop, and we waited in guilty stasis.

The Boss re-emerged from the commander's cupola, and looked at us sternly. No smile, no mercy in his eyes. A recruiting-poster Marine officer.

And then with a flourish, he turned, dropped his pants, and bent over to grab his ankles.

Apparently they had meurochrome too.

And a toothbrush...for his wide and inverted grin was scarlet as well.

Your Dying Spouse 54 - Strong and Fragile

We're linked with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday, and 3D Lessons for Life.

Consider, oh caregiving spouse, the robin's egg.

A lovely shade of blue (and a Crayola colour1), the robin's egg is strong enough to carry a small and vulnerable life, but fragile enough for that new life to emerge.

There's a lesson here, and the lesson is for you.

You have to build an enormous strength to survive your spouse's Long Goodbye; there's no question about that. You have to carry your own emotions, and theirs, and deflect the assaults of your peace of mind - both unthinking and deliberate.

"Wow, you really don't get out much any more, do you?" Kind of hard to do when you're emptying bedpans.

"You mean you haven't seen the latest Hunger Games film?" No, but I've seen lots of x-ray films, and as horror stories, they're worse.

You've got to be tougher than Rambo, and less pervious to insult and injury than the Terminator.

But those can't define you, because one day the ordeal will end, and you'll have to be fragile.

There will be a new life opening within you, a small spark of hope that you may not want to recognize for a long time.

Nonetheless, it will be there, because the Lord promised that the Son would rise.

You can nurture this gentle murmur of the Almighty...simply by being open, being vulnerable. Being the egg that bore its burden, and can now crack.

How? You may well ask. You've crawled through your heart's Armageddon. How to you cradle a thin green shoot of grass? How do you protect a nestling?

It's hard, and it's simple.

There's only one step.

When you feel a smile coming, after the thundering tragedy, you'll resist it...out of misplaced respect (would he or she want you to frown forever?), but also out of fear.

Because the smile, when you let it come, the first few times, the first few hundred times, will be followed by welling tears, and choking sobs.

Let them tears come, because they are the lubricant for your eyes...without them, blinking would be painful.

They are the prerequisite to vision.

The vision of your journey, from heartache through steel strength through fragility and brokenness...and out to life, once again.

I can't be there with you. But I want to know that you can smile again.

Your Dying Spouse 53 - Say Yes to Drugs?

Being a caregiver in this most stressful of situations is probably the hardest challenge you'll face during your lifetime. Caring for the person you love most while he or she is fading from this life is not only physically difficult, it's a constant emotional wrench that affects you in ways you may never have imagined.

It' two long a list for five minutes, but this road can raise your blood pressure, reduce the effectiveness of your immune system, make your appetite vanish (or the opposite - comfort foods got that name for a reason), keep you from sleeping (or lure you to escape in sleep), and cause a very understandable degree of depression and anxiety.

You're surrounded, and you may find yourself fighting on all fronts.

You may need help to come through this in the best shape possible. Pharmaceutical help.

Drugs.

Many people - and I am one of them - hate the idea. It' feels like admitting a weakness, to take medication. And we may have a valid dislike of the side-effects...when you stop taking narcotics, withdrawal is horrible.

And you may be afraid of addiction.

On the other hand, when you break a leg, you need a crutch. And terminal illness in your mate or yourself is way worse than a broken leg. Long-term stress can really damage your long-term health.

It comes down to you, as an individual, but here are my thoughts. I am assuming thatyou are working with a doctor or counselor who's got prescription privileges.

• FIRST, do NOT self-medicate. Alcohol is not something you can turn to under stress, and if you're worried about addiction, it's the most addictive substance out there. If you drink wine with dinner, you may be tempted to have just a little more, to calm you down. That can be an easy start to a bad road.
• It should be obvious...but illegal and quasi-legal drugs are also a terrible idea. Marijuana is legal in some states, and legal for prescription in others; your spouse may well have it under prescription, for pain. Don't 'borrow' it, and don't find your own supplier. It's not harmless to begin with. It can impair judgement in the long-term, and the strength and quality can vary widely.  DOn't go there...and obviously, none of the hard drugs under any circumstances.
• If you're blood pressure's up, accept what your doctor prescribes (if you can tolerate it). Hypertension, over time, can cause severe kidney damage (among other things), and that would be a nasty legacy of your caregiving days. You may be able to find a combination of lifestyle factors you can use (change of diet and meditation) to reduce or even eliminate the meds.
• Antidepressants can be very helpful in pulling you through the down days, and helping you avoid making bad decisions in while in the grip of sadness. The depression, in this case, is probably situational, and it will lift at some time after your spouse's death. It sounds cold, but while we carry sadness to the grave, Situational depression's a temporary phenomenon. It goes away over time. (Obviously, if you  have clinical depression, caregiving can make it much worse, and you need to be monitored more frequently than usual.)
• The anxiety engendered by are giving can make life miserable...and it can lead to a depression that's hard to shake. There's not a bit shame attached to taking medication that will help you keep an emotionally even keel.

The important thing is to let your doctor or counselor know what is going on, and how you're coping; and if medicine's prescribed, give it a chance.

Yes, this will make you a more effective caregiver, but even more important is the care you give yourself.

You are important. Your health is important.

And the happiness you may yet find in life is important.

Endex.

What do you think? We're often described as an over-prescribed society, but there seem to be areas in which an aggressive approach with medication is helpful, and needed.

We're linking with Inspire Me Monday and Testimony Tuesday.

We're also linked with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday.

Your Dying Spouse 52 - I Want to Live {FMF}

Time for another Five Minute Friday, the timed and keyword themed writing challenge, hosted by the gracious Kate Motaung.

The keyword this week is YES.

(We're also linked to Lisha Epperson's Give Me Grace and with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday.)

Execute.

Yes. I want to live.

The past weeks have been difficult, more painful than I could have imagined, and frightening. The pain in my midsection (along the lower margin of the ribs, and in the back, on the right side) feels like I've been chainsawed. Straightening up is hard. Walking is an ordeal - every step with my right foot sends a spear up the leg into my gut.

Eating is a chore. I have to get the calories in, and hydrate. It hurts to eat, but allowing myself the luxury of eating as much as I think I can just starts me down a slope that' can't be climbed again. I have to hydrate, one sip at a time. The calories are counted - I've got to reach a certain intake...

...and maintain the activity level to burn those, and keep my body as fit as I can.

And sleep - the literal stuff of nightmares. The dawn is so welcome!

And that's why, YES, I want to live.

The dawn brings hope. Not the false hope that this will all go away, but the hope that I can transcend this vale of tears, and still do something useful.

Most of the dreams I had are fading. I'm not going to be a successful and renowned author...but I do have one published novel,Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart, and I'm proud of it. Readers like it. So do I.

I'm not going to finish my airplane-building project...but every day I can still do something small, because meaning is, in the end, found in living the process.

Our marriage is not what I hoped it would be, now...Barbara has to help me bathe, and help me dress. She is always wondering, when she leaves for work...will I be alive when she gets home?

And sometimes I'm in so much pain that she wishes God would take me, so I wouldn't have to suffer any more. I understand that. I know the value - and please don't ask for details - of the coup de grace.

But I love her, and she loves me, and sometimes we can share a small joke, or a squeeze of the shoulders that counts for a hug. It hurts too much to hug her properly. But one does what one can.

I like the smell of her hair, and the way the morning and evening lights make her eyes sparkle.

And YES, I still want to live. I want to see the sun rise, and feel its warmth. I want to sit amidst the dogs, and let them play around me - and they're very careful not to hurt me - they know.

I want to read a good book, and see a movie that challenges me to keep going, to look for meaning on those dark days when all seems lost.

And I want to be here. I want to tell you all that this life is worthwhile in the details, even when the big picture is darkening.

That it isn't about what you experience, what you get out of it.

Life is about what you give from where you are.

I'm giving everything I have now.

Endex.

Honesty is hard. It is also required.

There was a song running through my head while I wrote this - Enya's "Book of Days".
Here's the Youtube link, if you care to give it a listen