6,728. That’s the average number of steps on my fitness app each morning. And that’s before leaving the house. The reason being, I am the caregiver for both my 100-year-old mother, physically capable of moving around but not always on the same planet I inhabit, and my handicapped husband, mentally aware but unable to walk by my side.
Inevitably, whenever I sit down to enjoy my breakfast, one of them calls for my help. More often than not, I eat while walking back and forth across the house, stopping at the kitchen table for a forkful of cold scrambled eggs and a sip of lukewarm coffee.
I never imagined that in my seventh decade I would be an expert on hospital bed maintenance or the durability of pill crushers. When my husband and I took those vows for “better or worse," I had just put my toes into my third decade. At that time, life was good, and I thought it would only get better. Anything falling into the "worse" category would include arguments over what color to paint our future house, some small disagreements on disciplining our children or what country to visit on our 50th anniversary — an anniversary approaching and a trip we will never take.
Because while we were planning our lives, a brain tumor due to Agent Orange was secretly stealing our future. As for my mom, I’m simply taking care of her, the way she took care of me. And for that matter, most everyone in her life. I’ve been caregiving for both of them for the past five years, and I know the stress, struggles and the joy of the process.
Most days go by without incident. But as the hours roll into weeks and into months, the pressure builds up like a tea-kettle about to blow. In order to keep my life manageable, I use these five coping mechanisms. And because of them, I’m a better caregiver.