Defending Our Choices
Submitted by Debbie on 2007, December 12 - 15:09.
I had an interesting conversation yesterday. I was on the phone with my best friend, Tina, who I've known for over 20 years. We've been together through illness, marriage, job changes, death, children...and everything else life has to offer. I love her dearly, as she does me. However, with her being probably the only person to have the courage to ask, I found myself in the position of having to explain to her why I choose to care for Dad at home.
"Why can't you place him in a loving place where he will receive professional around-the-clock care?" she began.
I was shocked that one who knew me so well would suggest this. I explained that Dad needs consistency and stability, that by keeping him at home he is surrounded by things and people that predate his illness. By keeping him at home, I said, we maintain the façade that his illness is temporary and his former life continues.
"If he no longer recognizes you or his home," Tina countered, "there's no need to have him at home since he constantly is readjusting to his surroundings."
This one threw me for a minute. I often have considered this line of thought myself. So why do I believe it is important for him to be at home if he does not know this is his home? Because sometimes the synapses fire correctly and he has a flash of orientation, and in that moment he is reassured and happy to be home. And, although this is entirely my unfounded hope for which I have no supporting scientific evidence, I believe deep down that where my dad, George Jackson, still exists, he is comforted by his being at home.
"You can visit," Tina reminded me.
Sorry, folks. I've said this before: I do not have the discipline to do that. Additionally, I cannot plan for those unexplainable, undeterminable, unpredictable moments when he is oriented—and I'd hate to miss them. Maybe it's selfish and somewhat unreasonable, but I do so miss the person my dad was that I want to be there on those rare occasions when he shows up.
"But you need to restart your life," she concluded.
Wow, I suddenly thought, she really does not get what we who are caregivers do. And if this person who knows me so well could so miss the point, it makes me wonder if the rest of the world will ever get it.
The point is, this is my life. Right now. Right here. This is my life. This is what I choose to do. And, yes, there is life after caregiving—and I believe it will be richer and have more meaning because I have spent this time with my loved one. The irony of the conversation is that, by questioning my commitment to caregiving, she actually reinforced my commitment. So thank you, Tina, for giving me that shot in the arm.