Friday, January 28, 2011

Pupil

Okay, a disclaimer first.

Some of you will think I am nuts (I'm not) and some of you will just say it's her imagination. Or perhaps, it's what she wants to be true. And some of you will relate.

Either way, this is my story.

The first few nights after Dennis died, I was so exhausted that I slept 12 hours easily. Some nights I would take the Klonopin that had been prescribed for me, other nights I tried to sleep naturally. This past week or so (tomorrow it will be 3 weeks) I have been waking up in the middle of the night, more or less wide awake. Since I am sorta retired, this isn't a huge problem, but I would like to get back to a normal schedule.

Two nights ago, I woke again at 3 AM. I played some games on my IPad to get myself out of my head. Soon, I was relaxed again, and closed my eyes to sleep.

When I closed my eyes, I saw an all white background under my lids. At first I attributed this to playing with a backlit toy, but it was different. It was soft like cotton balls or a ball of really fine cashmere. I just let it happen and in a few seconds an iris appeared in the middle of this white. It was obviously the pupil of an eye, and it was only a pupil. And it was looking at me directly into my own iris.

It wasn't there long. But it was Dennis' eye. I would know his eyes anywhere, any day, any time.

The next morning I woke up with a smile on my face.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Can't Sleep

I cannot sleep.

I have been sedating myself with a mild (very mild) narcotic that my doctor prescribed quite a while back. I take a low dose when I retire, and another half if I wake in the middle of the morning - usually around 3:00

I tried it again tonight, but my body wasn't going to relax. And then I remembered that I am retired and I do not have to get up in the morning at any special hour. Well, sorta retired, and there were no schools on my agenda for today.

So I got up.

But what does a person with no motivation do at 3 AM? Now it's 5 AM and I am still unmotivated.

I was crying last night. I received a email from Dennis' sister, Donna, right before I went to bed. She sounds dragged down, too. I tried to answer the email, but I got bogged down in tears and sentiment, and I didn't think she needed that from me.

Then I looked at the calendar and noticed I wasn't returning from the UK until the day before taxes are due. I suppose that was on my mind. I still haven't made it through all the papers in Dennis' room and now I know that I need to finish that. I don't need trouble with the IRS.

I have also been thinking about how I can support MSA Awareness Month in March. Oh, I had big plans of making a video, but then I was overwhelmed by how many computers we have that are loaded with pictures, and how would I put them all together. Even with help from a friend, Angelika, in Germany, it seemed way to over-whelming.

I have had enough over-whelming in my life the last few years. I need to do what pleases me for a while. If that means getting up in the middle of the morning and writing in my blog, then that is what I will do.

But, still, I can't avoid the IRS. On the agenda for the weekend.

Ann

Monday, January 24, 2011

Punishment Light

A while back Netflix began to stream through Wii. Since I wasn't using the Wii for exercise, as was planned, I signed up for 1 disk at a time, plus free streaming.

Weeds, seasons 1-4 were available. I had heard it was very funny and watched a few seasons, until it got a bit crazy, as all sitcoms eventually do.

There was an episode where the main character sits at an intersection she calls the Punishment Light. She is extremely stressed out by life and this damn light is always red, even when there is no traffic. She has a minor break-down while she waits for the light to change.

I live near one of those intersections. There are stop signs, then two sets of lights, a turn and another set of lights and then the great Minnesota invention - the "entering the freeway" lights. When I worked, I needed to take this route every morning. I remember timing it, and the longest was 10 minutes before actually getting on the highway. Now I am talking about a 1 mile ride here. One mile in 10 minutes.

When I was under stress, I would run red lights, swear, beat on the steering wheel, etc. I don't like waiting or being late.

Today I hit the same long wait, and I was a little behind for a school visit. But I noticed that without the stress of working full-time and caring for Dennis full time, I was able to take the 10 minutes of punishment much easier. I only thought about swearing. I stopped at red lights. I didn't take it out on my car. I took it with so much more grace.

Now, if I could only figure out why I deserve being punished by that light.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Spirit of Dennis

I was cleaning out a drawer in Dennis' desk today when my phone rang. It was the UPS dude with a package for me. As I walked down the steps all I could think of was, "what did he order?" He was always ordering something online.

As I signed for this rather large, but light weight package, I noticed it said the word lamp on the label. Dennis had many fixations - watches, lamps, night-lights - to name a few, but he usually would consult with me when it came to decorative items.

And this is what arrived:


It was Dennis' family in Massachusetts. There is a company called Memory Lane Lamps out east. As it says on the card, "the warmth and comfort of the lamp provides a lasting memory of a loved one..."

And the note that Donna and Louie and Carolyn, Katie and Daniel added, said:

"each time you use this lamp, may Dennis' love, spirit and light continue to shine."

I have been seeking Dennis spirit for the past week and a half now. So I put this by our bed so I could light it the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night.

Thank you, Donna, et. al.

Love you! Ann

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Goodbye Durable Medical Equipment

There are so many ways I want to remember Dennis. And there are somethings about his last months that I do not want to be left around as reminders. So last week I donated the electric wheel chair, the manual wheel chair, the walker and the hoyer lift to Jerry's kids - the MDS.


When the call came that the driver was on the way, I lined up all of the equipment to make it easier on all of us - the driver, me and the cat. A few minutes later they were out of our lives - the equipment and the driver.

I never minded the manual wheel chair or the walker. They were a daily part of Dennis. But the electric wheel chair frightened the heck out of me when Dennis was at the helm. He drove himself into his computer desk, the dining room table and me. I should mention he only used it a dozen, or less, times.

And the Hoyer. Yes, we did need to use it once, when Dennis fell out of bed. But other than that, it just took up room in a condo that has little room to spare. And Dennis hated it, really hated it. I think it made him feel that he was really, really limited - and he did not like that one bit.

Days are getting better. I have a full schedule starting Friday. Well, a full schedule may be a bit misleading. I have one school or meeting scheduled each day for 3 weeks. For someone who has been sitting around and watching movies for 10 days, that is a big leap. But it is a leap.

For now,
Ann

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Better Days

Yesterday was a much better day. Raquel, Dennis PCA that has been with us for over three years came over to help me package up and toss medical supplies.

But really we just chatted, watched a few TV shoes that we got ourselves hooked on over the past 6 months, and shared Dennis stories.

Raquel is really the only other person that has seen the day to day regression of Dennis' body and his ability to care for himself. She has seen what I have seen, done what I have done, and loved the same man I did. She is like family to me. I know she loves me, too, just as she did Dennis.

So, it was better, and Raquel is one reason for a better day.

Onward and forward,
Ann

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Sundays

I woke up this morning confused. I had been dreaming about houses and people, and wasn't quite sure where I was for a moment. Then I looked for Dennis, like I have every morning and realized I was at home, in our bedroom. Only it isn't our bedroom anymore, it's mine. And it's lonely.

I finally got out of bed and almost immediately started crying. I didn't have the energy to make my coffee. I picked up my phone and my sister had called. So I called her back.

And I cried again. I was distracted for a while while she told me about Ralph's diagnosis of diverticulitis and then I started crying again.

Then my nephew, Hamed, called. Yesterday I had asked if I could come over and watch football with him and his friends - looking for a distraction - some positive energy. But now I couldn't face leaving the house. He tried to talk with me, but I couldn't stop crying.

I had planned on going to a birthday bash for January girlfriends, but I had to cancel that, too. Who needs a birthday party with a crying widow?

I blamed it on the fact that I had picked up Dennis' ashes yesterday. I blamed it on being only a week since Dennis had died.

Finally I streamed a movie from Netflix and found my crying subsiding some. When the movie was finished, I started a new one, but there had just been a few too many minutes of being inside my head, and I started crying, hard once again.

Suddenly it occurred to me that it was Sunday. Sunday was the one day that Dennis and I were always alone, together. Oh, for a while last year we had my mom on Sundays, but for most of the 10 years that we were together, we were alone on Sundays, together.

And today I am alone on Sunday with just me (and kitty).

Ann

Friday, January 14, 2011

Spanish Coffee

Sheila, a friend who happens to be a teacher, took me out to lunch yesterday. She took the day off just for me, but I suspect her hangover from karaoke night was a bit of a factor, too.

We had a great time, just catching up, sharing our stories, laughing, lots of hugs and just being together. I am learning to socialize again!

Then I stopped at the bank to make a deposit and noticed that there were 3 or 4 bankers sitting around doing nothing. Dennis had kept this expensive account open that was costing us $25 a month, but we were no longer receiving benefits from it. He was one stubborn dude - he was even more stubborn than me - so we just kept on paying $300/year for Dennis to feel some gratification of having an account for the pretend rich.

So, unfortunately, I asked if I could speak to a banker. The minute I said it I wished I could take the words back and walk away. But I am not STRONG Ann yet, and did not have the strength in me to do anything but be compliant. So I sat down for 45 minutes and answered his mundane questions while he made some changes to our account. I was strong enough to say no to a monthly credit check, no to any fee based services and no to anything that was going to keep Wells Fargo hooks in me forever.

When I returned home I made myself myself my latest concoction to calm me down, but not drink too much. I made a Spanish coffee. It's a bit of brandy, Kahlua, cinnamon, chocolate, chilpolte and hot coffee. The caffeine sends the brandy to the blood and brain quickly, and usually one does the trick.

I was sitting and thinking about how I had not sobbed all day, and only teared up a little a couple times. I called another friend to relay a story I had promised (I will tell you all later), and then had my Spanish coffee.

Gosh, it tasted so good, and I had more coffee, so I made another. And then another.


Should not have had that third. Probably not the second, either, but definitely not the third.


I was crying, and sobbing, and petting Shiva, and talking to Dennis and then to my parents and sobbing some more.


I am guessing that I have many days ahead that will be up and down and down and up. But from now on it's one or two Spanish coffees only.


Until later,
Ann


And I changed the settings on the blog so anonymous can now post comments.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

I have been seeing a therapist for a few months to help me through the end of Dennis' life. Today I arrived with my own box of tissues and she knew something was big. I told her Dennis had died this past weekend and she had her arms around me before I even had a chance to catch my breath.

After I told her about the last days of his life I started talking about what I was doing to move ahead. It was a cathartic visit.

When I returned home I had a message from Janet, another caregiver whose husband died last year of the very same disease that took away my soulmate. She told me she had done the very same thing I was doing - getting rid of the medical equipment.

The call was reassuring. I was doing what other carers have done before me - donating unneeded equipment to some place that really needs the stuff. It's not about altruism, but more about clearing the home of reminders of how sick our partners had become.

I want to remember all of Dennis, but I don't need the equipment to remind me. I will never forget the last six months we spent traveling, recovering from travel and planning the next trip. But I don't.care to think everyday how we needed the Hoyer Lift to pick him up off the floor when he fell out of bed.

I am not ready to tackle anything else, but it will be nice when the wheel chair, electric chair, walker, bedside table and Hoyer Lift are out of my home and into some persons home that will use them.

Ann

Life After Care Giving

What does a girl do after devoting three years to caring for the man she loves? I guess she starts a new blog.

Unfortunately it starts with the mundane. Life becomes filled with paper work, donating, and phone calls. Friends slowly call, write and ask how they can help. Bills that I have happily given over to my partner are now needing to be handled by me.

Slowly I am picking myself up and I am trying to design a life without Dennis. We all knew this day was coming, we tried to prepare, but who is ever ready?

Not me, I guess.

So if you are willing to go onto the next chapter in my life with me, I am ready to share once again. As always I will be brutally honest, perhaps a bit too honest, and hopefully with my quirky sense of humor.

Until later,

Ann, on her own