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

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

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.

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