The site lists the “Top 20 Truly Exceptional Alcohol
Addiction Resources”. Each of the 20 blogs have been reviewed on this site. It
seems my site is a bit “old fashioned without many images”. Maybe it's time for a re-vamp.
Now for today’s post:
Riley will be released from the nursing home on Friday. The
nursing home has said they will help me get him into the van. I’m picking him
up late in the afternoon so my grandson will be home by the time I return. He
can help me get him up the flight of stairs that leads to the front door. His
bed will be ready and waiting for him.
That will be a turning point in my life. Until I find a
personal aide that I can afford, I will be at Riley’s beck and call 24 hours a
day. I will begin my caretaker role in a whole new direction. While I’m not
looking forward to it – I accept the inevitability of it. It is what it is and
fighting it only makes me cranky. Crankiness is not something I want to display
to my great-grandchildren who (in my mind) will be the one thing that makes
giving up this country house worthwhile.
Riley is a handful. Even his nursing home nurses tell me
that he is difficult because he refuses to cooperate and doesn’t understand his
own limitations. His brain function doesn’t allow him to remember that he can’t
walk to the bathroom. He has always been passive aggressive, so now it
manifests itself in ways that cause his nurses to come running when he thinks
he hasn’t had enough attention. He now lacks the ability to form reasonable
logical conclusions or conversation. He truly doesn’t understand why he can’t
go home to his very own place and continue living his life on his own.
I’m asked how I feel about that. How do I feel that he is a
child in an adult’s body and I must tend to him? My answer is … well… how do
you think I feel? Riley has so destroyed his own mind and body that he can no
longer function even though he is sober. He has done this to himself. I want to
feel some kind of empathy for him, but I do not. I want to be able to say – oh! He can’t help how he is. But, the
truth is he COULD have prevented this and his choice was to stay on the
insanity path and destroy everyone in the vicinity. So I feel angry with him
for making those choices. I feel sadness that such an intelligent man was so
stupid to not accept the opportunities that have been presented to him so many
times. I’m hurt that he didn’t care about the outcome for the rest of the
family. That’s how I feel.
But, how I feel really doesn’t matter. I never thought
things would go this direction when I first took him back in. I wasn’t seeing
the situation clearly when I made that decision. I would have still prevented
my daughter from taking him into her home – but I might have searched for an
option other than the one I choose. And there you have it – I CHOOSE to take
him it. It was MY decision and now I must come to terms with the fact that I
may have made the wrong choice. It’s just the same as Riley making a wrong
choice. I’m really no different. The choice was made and now I must deal with
it. Since Riley cannot be an adult, I must handle both of our choices in an
adult manner for both of us.
The hospice care doctor says Riley LOOKS physically better,
so he is better and is no longer dying. The doc says he sees “no decline” in
his condition. I don’t agree. I see decline every time I go see him. No lab
tests have been taken and as long as he is in the nursing home, none will be
done. However, the doc was quick to tell me that I must be the “gatekeeper to
the liquor cabinet.” He tells me Riley
has very little liver function and ANY alcohol at all could be a fatal drink. I
explain that it isn’t just the liquor cabinet that Riley is interested in
because he will drink anything he can get his hands on. The doctor says I must
watch him 24/7 because his fate is in my hands. Isn’t that just peachy?
It seems that now my entire role in life is to keep Riley alive by not allowing
him what he wants as he proceeds to death’s door.
My uncle had emphysema. He had this portable oxygen tank
that he pulled around with him. He smoked constantly even with the oxygen tank
close by. I went to visit him as he was dying in his bed at home. His days were
extremely short and I remember feeling so sad for the loss I was about to
endure. He was always happy to see me. When I walked into the room he gave me a
wide grin and said “Hey… honey… tell me like it is.” He was talking about what
was going on in my life and not about his illness. As we talked, he asked me to
hand him his cigarettes. I said no – he knew he wasn’t supposed to be smoking.
His response was he was dying anyway, so what did it matter? I knew he was past
the point of being saved and he was 93 years old. But I didn’t give him that
cigarette. He died a few days later while smoking his last cigarette. In hindsight, I think I should not have denied his last bit of pleasure when he was so near the end of his life. Heck, I should have gotten him a top notch cigar.
When I was asked if I would give Riley alcohol when he
returned home, I thought of my 93 year old uncle and his desire for that
cigarette. At this point, before I’m actually faced with the decision, I’d have
to say I will not serve Riley alcohol just like I didn’t get that cigarette. But,
and this is a big BUT, if Riley expresses his anger in ways that makes him
impossible for me to handle, I might just give him that drink. Of course, it
won’t be enough for him and my fear is if I give an inch he will pressure me to
make it a mile. So, I guess my answer is – I don’t know.
I’ve been a caretaker before so I know how difficult it will
be. Every time in the past, I had a lot of support and relief. I was not in it
alone. This time, it’s just me. Unless I can find a personal care aid who will
work for homemade peanut butter cookies – it’s all on my shoulders. It’s OK. My
shoulders may not be wide, but they are strong. Psychologically I’m stronger
than Riley. I can do this and I will do it to the best of my ability. After
all, I’ve always been an over-achiever.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think – it’s too bad
that the functional alcoholics who read my blog can’t come and sit with Riley
for 48 hours. Let each of them take care of him for just a weekend. This would
show them what their lives might be like if they continue to drink themselves
into oblivion. Maybe instead of picking up trash alongside the road, the legal system could use caretaking Riley as a form of community service. If they saw what the future could hold -- maybe – just maybe – their choice would switch from insanity to
sobriety. Maybe they would choose not to be a child in the body of a 70 year
old.