Adventures in Dating
Submitted by Debbie on 2008, May 6 - 15:42.
Respite care—also known as what allows caregivers to get some “me” time—is vital to both one’s mental and physical well-being. Someone comes into your life and home with the skills and training to care for your loved one while you have time off for good behavior. Sounds like a luxury, doesn’t it? But for many caregivers, it is a necessity. Even so, I‘ve found that many people imagine that family caregivers who hire respite caregivers must be sitting in a spa, getting a manicure or pedicure, a massage, a facial, the works. Frankly, I’ve never been able to use respite care for self-pampering. I do have to admit I long to use respite for that, and I cheer on any caregiver who’s able to use respite to recharge her batteries. Instead, I use respite for appointments that would be inappropriate for my dad to attend with me and for work. Lifestyles of the rich and famous, hey? Ha!
When I first introduced Dad to Irene, our respite angel, I expected some hesitation on his part. He was still somewhat oriented and not near as frail as he is today. I started slowly. Irene came the first day and the three of us chatted. The second day, I left for an hour and rushed home. Irene and Dad were chatting in the living room and all seemed well. I was then relaxed and felt I could leave with a calmed heart and clear conscience.
After a couple of weeks, Dad began to resist. He explained to me that he was perfectly capable of being home alone. Trust me, that was sooo not true. By this time, he had forgotten how to use the phone; I know this to be true because Dad’s version of answering the phone was to run up and down the hall yelling “Hello” over and over (and he couldn’t figure out why no one answered). I told him that I needed Irene there to keep him company and finally resorted to guilt. “Dad,” I said, “please let Irene come here. It makes me feel so much better when I am not here. Can you please do this for me?” Worked like a charm.
Things settled down and we got into a routine. Irene would come and try to get Dad to go on a walk. He’d refuse. She would try later. He’d refuse again. After a few repeat performances, Irene and I discussed it, and I told her I would see what I could do.
Later that evening, I mentioned Irene to my dad. He furrowed his brow and looked at me—total blank. Finally, he asked, “Who is Irene?” I said, “She’s the nice lady who comes and tries to get you to walk.” He made a face. It was clear he was not interested in walking with Irene.
Determined caregiver that I am, I brought the issue up repeatedly to test the waters. Dad was confused enough by then; time no longer had meaning. It’s amazing how, when your short-term memory is so damaged, that days and minutes are the same. I learned to use this to my advantage. I’d ask Dad the same question over and over until I got the answer I wanted, and then we would move on. This, however, did not work as regards walks and Irene; every time, Dad would make the same face and resisted my efforts.
Perplexed, I sat down with my dad to get to the core of the issue. After some time, Dad asked me: “Does she know I am married?”
This is always a tough question, as Mom had recently died; I would vacillate between fiction and fact. Sometimes I would say she had passed away, other times I would say she was out shopping.
I asked if he meant Irene. He rolled his eyes and said, “Yes.” During the pause that followed, he asked if Irene is married. I said, “Yes, she is.” Dad looked at me and explained that he did not appreciate that woman coming into our house and hitting on him.
Needless to say, my jaw dropped. Then I looked at it from his viewpoint. This woman comes into our home and as soon as everyone is gone, she tries to "make a pass." Dad saw her request to go for a walk as the equivalent of going on a date. His hesitancy had nothing to do with his needing company; he just wanted someone who wasn’t interested in him romantically. That was three years ago. Since then, Irene has been a fixture in our life.
When I arrived home the other day, Dad and Irene were chatting. As she got ready to go, he asked if she was leaving. Irene said she was, that she needed to go to the grocery store. Dad looked sad. Irene said she would come back the next day. Dad lit up, looked into Irene’s eyes, and said how much he would enjoy her coming back. It’s funny how, over time, what at first seemed impossible has become so natural.