I CAN FEEL IT SLIPPING AWAY

I CAN FEEL IT SLIPPING AWAY,

Slowly, slowly, slipping away,

It’ll be gone in a few more days …

#%)@#$%^&(

You might remember that old song by Jean Shepherd:

And I can feel it slipping away

Slowly, slowly slipping away

Yes, it'll be gone in a few more days

If we don't stop this love of ours from slipping away.

It was always one of my favorites. I first heard it when I knew I was about to go through a rough divorce. Unfortunately, at that time, there was no way to stop it and yet the melody of the song was so uplifting, I just couldn’t help but sing along.

Now, 47 years later, I have no regrets. Everything really did work out for the best, and, I still enjoy listening to that song. The melody and lyrics are very catching.

Funny how time changes things and your own perspective on daily life.

I’m now in my seventies. I am a home-healthcare aid whose patient has severe dementia. It isn’t easy caring for her, but I do my best.

Before and after work, I tend to my husband. While he does not have dementia, he has few other issues that need watching. His health has declined in the past few years.

My health has changed, also, and not for the better. Let’s face it. We are older!

I’ll begin this little story by talking about me. Between the stenosis and arthritis, my pain is never ending. The meds my primary has given me only take the edge off the pain. I’m sure if he gave me anything stronger, I’d sleep the day away. I may muddle through the day, but I make do. I’m not one to sit around and “vegetate on the couch”. I like keeping busy. “Work through the pain” has been my mantra – until a day hits me where I need to rest. Thankfully, those days are few and far between. But, hey, I am woman, hear me roar, right?

Time to pick on my husband. I would love to say, “typical man”, but he isn’t. My sons are not like him in any way. They work through their aches and pains, and illnesses that might hit them hard. Yes, there are exceptions, but they are hard workers. Back to hubby. When he was younger, he exhibited a work ethic that might put others to shame. He’d awaken at four each morning, drive to work, work for seven (sometimes longer) hours, then do what needed to be done once he arrived home.

Now, he’s in his eighties and has slowed down considerably. His health has also declined. A big part of his problem is his voice. He has spasmodic dysphonia which inhibits his speaking. In other words, he sounds like a dying frog who has run up hill at 40 miles per hour. He doesn’t speak; he croaks! He isn’t easy to understand. But we make do. As long as I stand directly in front of him, I can get the drift of what he’s trying to say. (I should mention that I wear hearing aids and that’s help me when I try to understand my out-of-breath frog). Once he gets his injections, his voice improves but only about 10%. He will always be hard to understand.

Jumping to my work, now.

As I said, the woman I tend to has dementia.

She walks but is reluctant to do so.

She is non-verbal. She also hates the toilet. While I can get her on that device, I need to stand there and “listen” to make sure she “goes”.

She can’t feed herself.

She can’t dress herself.

If I show her photographs of her earlier life with her sisters and brothers, there is no recognition – just a blank stare and not even focusing on the photo.

More often than not, she prefers to sit with her eyes closed.

While she lives at home, as soon as I walk in the door of her house, her husband takes a backseat to her care. He leaves it all up to me! I don’t mind. It’s my job. While at times, she’s difficult to manage, we make the best of it. As long as I can get her standing, if I play music, I can get her to smile and “sway” with me.

HOWEVER,…. it’s her husband that makes me want to pull my hair out.

As someone who takes care of a dementia patient, part of my job is to talk to her, or read to her. As long as she hears a human voice, it’s not so bad. She needs that direct contact. Yet, when I speak to her, her husband always answers. What????? I wasn’t talking to him!! He’s not my patient; his wife is. However, whatever he hears me say to his wife, he’ll pick up the conversation with me. Oh! lordy!!

She likes music but all too often, when I turn on his Echo device, he’ll quickly ask his Echo for a different song. Wait! Who’s the patient here?

All of a sudden, I’ll hear him shout, “Miss Meg, how would you like to go for a walk?”

Which means, I have to take her slippers off, put her shoes on, try to get her standing, once she is, get her to the bathroom, then try and get her to walk down seven steps. I’ve already told him that I will not walk her on my own. If he doesn’t walk with her, she’s not going. There have been times when she’ll decide she no longer walks and sits on the ground! Getting her off a chair or out of bed is one thing, but trying to lift a woman who weighs 130 pounds off the ground, well, we all know, that ain’t gonna happen!

This happens approximately three times a day.

Just the other day, as I tried to coax her, step by step, he yanked her hands and she almost fell. OMG! I stood in front of her and gently pulled each foot and placed it on the descending step. It was the reverse, and just as difficult getting her back up the steps and inside the house.

Once back inside, he’ll sit in his recliner and usually take a nap! This is the time I enjoy. I can tell her stories, or read my book aloud. As long as she’s not being ignored.

There are times, he’ll put on a sappy, “Hallmark” love story and turn the volume UP. No point in trying to speak to his wife. I can’t even hear myself think!

So, now, instead of thinking about my unpleasant divorce that turned out for the better, whenever I hear, “I can feel it slipping away,” my mind goes in another direction:

I can feel it slipping away.

Slowly, slowly, slipping away.

It’ll be gone in a few more day,

As I sit and watch my sanity slipping away.

God help the caregivers. Each of them deserves a medal!.