WEIGHT LIFTING

I am alone for a few days as of yesterday. To begin with I felt lost and indecisive. I am now my husband's full time nurse, and the fact that he's not here almost bewilders me. He is at a friend's cabin in the mountains of Ål in Hallingdal, and also joined by a third friend. They claimed to be wholly prepared for the task of caring for him, and so far reports from the snowy wilderness prove them right.

Immediately after he'd left yesterday morning I was overwhelmed by a feeling of utter exhaustion. I went back to bed for a few minutes to get warm after helping him into the car in the cold garage. I woke up three hours later, recalling stressful and fitful dreams of not being in time for appointments, of looking for and not finding my grandchildren, of being desperate, basically. The kind of dreams that make you wake up more tired rather than rested. And you're glad they were only dreams.

Not only am I mentally worn out, but my body aches as if I've run a marathon each day - or rather - done a fair bit of weight lifting. I've had to stop my three-times-a-week thousand metres swimming laps, because I have no time or possibility to get out of the house, nor would I feel comfortable and calm being away from the house for these self-indulgences.

And weight lifting is actually what I do. I lift my husband out of bed, out of his chair, off the toilet, off the shower stool - well, you name it. Up and down when I dress and undress him. He leans on me everywhere he walks - and he can barely walk any more. But we try to make it out of the flat most days. A fall the other day - tripping on a mat in the supermarket while I was holding him - made me decide that the wheelchair is the only option from now on outside our home. I've tried to support him - or the crutch has - the few metres he has managed to walk, but the fall and the fact that I practically carry him sometimes when his legs are almost too weak to hold him up tell me that the wheelchair is better both for him and for me. His deteriorating eyesight also means he bumps into things, even when I try to lead him.

That wheelchair is heavy and unmanageable too - maneuvering it into the car - but better than enduring those undignified and potentially dangerous falls!

Wheelchair on veranda - NOT in corridor

I am with my husband all the time. No wonder I find myself lost when he's away. I sometimes go out on my own for an hour at the most, if I need to be out longer I arrange for someone to stay with him. I contacted our new municipal office to ask how they could help - for instance by sending a nurse to care for him while I'm out - but all they can offer is a couple of visits during a two to three hour absence. So that's no use. But I have my daughters - thank God for them! They are the best. And his friends. I am in awe of their support, which never ends. This tells me too that he has always been supportive of them. 

But we have to allow for other challenges to turn up in our lives! A week into the New Year my granddaughter Jelena was rushed to hospital with severe stomach pains. She was held there for three days, lots of tests taken - and her Mum tried to sleep on a bench next to her during the restless and noisy nights. Jelena's sister Mira stayed with us. Not bearing the sight of food for ten days, my sweet twelve-year old granddaughter is now on the mend, though still waiting for the test results. 

The children's ward

Granddad visiting and tempting the patient with a smoothie

While her sister was in hospital Mira and I enjoyed our favourite sushi and maki!

Mira wrapped in a wolf fur coat on a freezing evening on the veranda. I know - I don't like furs either, but this coyote died 40 years ago!

My husband gets despondent, depressed and has recently felt the need to make an appointment with his psychologist again. He will be seeing her next Monday, after a pause of two months. She's young, direct and at the same time comforts him. Lifts him up. Compliments him on his strength. In general I don't know what they talk about because I have only joined the sessions sometimes at the end. I do believe he finds her a refreshing and objective contrast to me, well - in short he can talk to her about topics that we avoid. For me there is no benefit in talking about death - unfortunately perhaps. I appreciate the advantage of being able to do it, but I can't. If I did I would surely break even more. I think I break enough already.

My head tells me to be positive, sweet, forthcoming and loving. Often nowadays I am none of these. I tell myself I will regret immensely - sometime in the not too distant future - that I was not the ray of sun and the angel of love that my husband deserves and needs ALL the time.

But I try. I'll give myself that compliment. I try hard. Maybe I try too hard to be everything - wife, girlfriend, nurse, cook, helper. Many people - including my husband - have told me it's time for him to spend some days in a Hospice. But sending him away like that, well - for me that might turn out to be the hardest decision of all to live with.