Caregiver, Take A Rest


I woke up earlier than Al today, so I took advantage of my free time and got on the

urination: not here

urination: not here (Photo credit: maximolly)

computer and answered the question to Plinky. About the same time I finished the question, Al got up. By now it was nine am, and between that and 10am, this is what happened.

Al rang his bell announcing to me that he was ready to get up. I said that I heard him, and he proceeded to get up, as I finished up on here, which was long enough to get out of WP. I walked back in to his room to start the bed check to see if it was wet, and I see Al peeing on his table and floor and trying to wipe it off with his hanky. He just looked at me, and said he was cleaning it up. I immediately went and got the cleaners for the table top, that was flooding, and the floor, and instantly removed the items from the table that were damp.

Al and I have been in battle for a few days now about keeping things on the table top at night. I have explained to him until I am blue in the face, that it is alright to over load his bed side table during the day, but once bed time arrives, the table can only hold his lamp, kleenex box, television remote, and his bell. I have repeatedly explained as nice as I could, that if he fell out of bed, I did not want to break his items sitting on top, trying to move the table to get to him, but he refuses. He has always been a very stubborn person, in fact, I don’t think I know anyone personally, that is as stubborn as he, and this is where the peeing came in also.

I have repeatedly asked him to sit and go pee, on the commode, but he wants to stand, and then he doesn’t hold his private part, while trying to pee, because he is trying to hold onto something stable in order to stand the short time to pee. He wants everything to stay the way it was prior to Parkinson’s, and I understand this totally, but changes have to be made.

He got mad at me right away, and I believe this is because he was busted, or caught, doing the wrong thing, so he started to blame me for his peeing on the floor and table. I reminded him again, while I was cleaning up the messes, that he needed to sit and pee, not stand. This statement made him mad, and he carried his anger through breakfast, and then when breakfast was over the shower girl appeared at the door.

I let her in and she was a witness to his anger and tears. I felt bad for her as she did not ask to be a party to this. After he got through with his breakfast and rambling on about how I did not care about him, and I was trying to get rid of him by placing him, he was not concentrating on what he was doing, getting up, and he caught the leg of the kitchen chair he had been sitting at, and was dragging it with pushing his walker.

I jumped out of my chair in order to get the chair apart from the walker, so he would not fall once again, and he turned on me instantly. He started charging at me and he was telling me to go to hell, and that I was a bitch.

The shower girl came instantly and tried to get him to calm down, and told me to go back and sit down, that she would give him his shower. Al doesn’t know this but the baby monitor being on, I could hear him dogging me to death, telling her all kinds of crap, trying to win her over to his side, just like a kid that plays mom against dad. All this happened in one hour, before I brushed my teeth, or hair, or was in my day clothes, one hour!

It was awful, but only for an instant, did it sting, but instead I got angry. How dare he act so naughty, when I go out of my way.  Wasn’t I just the one who had been cleaning all the messes up in his room, get his medications ready, get his drinks ready, silverware, napkin, plates. Oh forget it I said to myself, I am not doing this for any recognition or rewards, I am doing this because I love him, and because I love him, I have decided to go forth with the placement. I need my health back and he needs more help than I can give him anymore.

The Dinner Table


silver ware

silver ware (Photo credit: agavegirl13)

This won’t be long. I just have to get it off my shoulders. I can’t go over and do it for him. He is already upset. He is cussing and he is yelling at me because he thinks he is a five-year old. I am finding this to happen more and more. Each time I offer my help and tell him I understand, I am lying. How could I understand? Unless, I have the same thing, I could have no idea what he is going through. I have tried taking my arm, and tightening it up, and shaking it as fast as I can, but in a matter of seconds, my arm will start to hurt and ache from the tightness. Now he is coughing. Coughing on his drink. He is trying to tell me something while he is struggling to drink his juice. I bought him weighted silver ware, about a month ago, and this seemed to be a miracle in itself. Sometimes I would see the fork or spoon tumbling to the floor, because it would fall out of his hands, but I would just smile at him, and tell him, it is no problem. I will pick it up and wash it off and he can have it back. The arm has become immune to this new weighted item that he holds. It wants and needs more. It is showing its teeth, snarling that nothing I could ever do would begin to beat it down. I feel like it is Satan staring me in the face, and laughing deep from his ugly soul, knowing that I am the loser in this game. We ate out for lunch out today, since we had to pick up medicines. Yes, at his favorite restaurant. While he was eating, his nose was less than two inches from his plate. I wanted to cry out to him, to hold his head up, sit up straight. Tell him that he knows better, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My job at that moment was just to make sure he stayed safe. We ordered dessert for him, and they brought it before the meal, and he gobbled the dessert first, like he had never had that type of sweetness touch his mouth. I almost said something about didn’t he remember that we save our desserts for after our meal? Again, I said nothing.  For supper I was not hungry yet, and he is on his schedule, whether he is hungry or not. I gave him a simple, filling meal with applesauce for dessert. He always takes his medications from a cup. Tonite he could not get the cup up far enough in the air to force the pills to fall downwards into his mouth. He is cussing at the pills. Saying they want to stick in the cup and make a fool of him. I did suggest he place the pills in his hand or that I could help him. He ended up placing them in his hands and did manage to swallow them. Food that I gave him, continued to slide on to the table, some hitting the floor. He is yelling at me, I am five years old. I don’t deserve to eat. Maybe this Parkinson’s should just kill me right now so I don’t starve.  I offer to help feed him, and this was a big NO. He is finished now. Has left the table to brush his teeth. I get up and start cleaning the table and floor.