Caregiver or Why Has the Ache in Your Arse Become the Pain in Mine?
Caregivers God Love 'em
Carer / Caregiver; someone whose life is in some way restricted by the need to be responsible for the care of someone who is mentally ill, mentally handicapped, physically disabled or whose health is impaired by sickness or old age.
Did you know there is an estimated 4.4 million caregivers in the U.S? 55% of these patients live in their own homes. I figure as our nation faces continual economic declination this percentage will increase in upcoming years.
According to Wikipedia; Sixty percent of the caregivers called the experience "very or extremely rewarding," a 50% jump over the number of caregivers who thought in advance they would find the experience "very or extremely rewarding. You've got to love this group.
" Nearly 80% (78.8%) percent of the caregivers found the experience to be at least "rewarding," this is my group.
Back Pain Therapy at Amazon
Help Me Jesus
I Said All That to Say This
Recently, my husband Charles, was diagnosed first with a slipped disc then an arthritic spine condition. Needless to say the first week after the diagnosis he was nearly unable to walk. The symptoms began slowly during the New Years Eve weekend and we had to wait until Monday to get to a doctor. By that time he was in excruciating pain.
Okay we now know what ails him, so here what's ailing me; I am about to lose my ever lovin' mind. The pain shoots down from the top of Charlie's right buttock to the bottom of his foot with every movement. All the while even the most minute movement gives him cause to moan or groan . . constantly.
Charles was prescribed pain pills and Celebrex (thank God for pain pills) after almost two weeks he's been getting around a bit better. He's had to use a cane, and periodically our home made walker (an office chair).
Lord his constant moaning and the noise of that chair against the tile of our kitchen floor will be my undoing, he's limping on my last good nerve. Charlie has taken sick leave so he's home all blasted day! I feel like the ever maddening narrator in Edgar Allen Poe's Tell - Tale Heart.
At dawn I wake to the sound of his chair rolling across the kitchen floor accompanied by the howl of our 25 pound cat, Renfro Tiberius Allen. Charlie's going for his morning aphrodisiac . . coffee Renfro is howling for breakfast. So every morning, and I mean every morning, I can hear them both in the kitchen. Charles pushing that damn chair around the kitchen all the while moaning and groaning loudly in pain, Renfro howling in the background. Why dawn you say, well with the constant pain my husband is unable to sleep. . God love him!!!
It has been all I could do not to tear off my clothes, and go running screaming down the middle of our quiet residential street whilst pulling out my hair. CAN YOU NOT SUFFER IN SILENCE! I think my jaws and fists finally unclenched last Friday. My prayers of patience is the only thing that has kept me from screaming at the top of my lungs for Charlie to shut the hell up and pummeling him into submission.
Thanks be to God, Charlie and I are doing much better. He does not need the medication as much as before, going to therapy three times a week, only uses his cane and that chair occasionally.
Help for Caregivers on Sale at Amazon
What's Wrong with Me?
I was of the belief that women were natural caregivers, because of the title of mother. Nurturers who instinctively care for those in need.
This is truly not me. I first noticed my lack of compassion for those who are sick or in need when I became a mother. As with most working mothers every now and again my son would fall ill. I would have to call into work, and stay home to take care of him when he was small. Also calling his daycare, letting them know he would not be in their charge that day . . . and yeah they still charged me. Outwardly, I reacted in typical motherly fashion, reflecting worry and concern. Inwardly, I was distant, cold, angry, lacked empathy and felt inconvienced.
I know, I know, how callous, but I'm sorry this was honestly how I felt. How dare he get sick, doesn't he know I have to work? Don't get me wrong, my son was well taken care of; I spoiled him rotten for the entire time he was ill, he wanted for nothing. Inside I was boiling mad and felt put out. Heaven forbid if he made an audible moan or groan of pain. I would literally have to go into my bedroom, and scream into a pillow all the time wondering; what the hell was my problem?
Self Help at Amazon
Are You a Victim of Toxic Parenting?
By Jove I Think I've Got It!
I cry at the drop of a hat, at every sad movie, news story, some commercials, TV movies and tear up every year while watching endless hours of Scrooge. Recently every time something comes across the tube about the Arizona tragedy I can't help but tear up. I give to my charities and church at every opportunity so I do have a heart.
Years ago while playing board games at my sister's home with she and her husband the subject of illness was broached. My sister's husband made a strange comment, under his breath, "a body could die in this house if they got sick", this perked my ears. I asked "what do you mean Jay?" He went on to describe my sister's reaction to anyone in the household of seven who had the audacity to fall ill. Imagine my surprise It mimicked mine!
Then I remembered . . . when we were young my mother used fake illnesses to keep us home. I distinctly remember an incident in my teens; my sister and I had planned for two weeks a double date to Disneyland. On the night of this special event, right before we were to walk out the door, we could hear our mother moaning and groaning from her room. The front door was opened, we almost escaped, my sister looked back and rolled her eyes. The ever familiar feeling of guilt spread over me. I closed the door and made my way, slowly, back to my mothers room. Tears streaming down my face anger in my heart. Once again I was sucked into the vortex of her guilt trip.
Toxic parenting is the reason for my lack of empathy for those in pain. Now that I know where it stems from I will do my best to overcome this stressful emotion. Isn't it strange how baggage laid upon us, by others, in our youth still haunt us throughout our adulthood?