When Things Are Too Much

“I was wondering if this would be too much for you.”

A friend, Denise Brown, recently asked me this but she wasn’t referring to caring for Robert.  She knows Richard and I can care for Robert and that bringing him into our home was the right decision for us. 

She was referring to an interview she asked me to participate in.  Denise had invited me on her show to discuss working and caregiving with a panel of other working caregivers.  (The show airs Friday at noon Pacific and can be watched here).   

Unfortunately, both working and caregiving got in the way of doing an interview about working and caregiving!

Richard and I are easily settling into a routine with Robert much as we did when we blended our families and raised three kids together.  We have our rough spots but the best thing we do is work well as a team. 

In the morning, I get Robert up, washed and get him his medications.  Richard makes decaf coffee for Robert and a mocha for me (costing Starbucks a small fortune in the process).  He prepares Robert’s breakfast and packs a lunch for Robert as well.  By the time I’ve finished helping Robert get ready for the day and he’s eating breakfast, Richard has showered and dressed and is able to keep an eye on Robert while I get ready for work. 

The night time rituals are split evenly as well and we even get to spend quality time watching whatever crime show has our interest at the moment (for now, it’s NCIS).

The routine goes smoothly until The Universe decides to pile on.  Remember when I thought I was being tested?  Apparently, the test has extra credit now.  

Last weekend, Richard was put on bed rest because of a complication from his chronic back pain (his legs swelled up enough to make his knees disappear and make his legs look like mid-size tree trunks).  A few days before that, I had a dental procedure go horribly wrong and was in excruciating pain for days.  I have a high tolerance for pain (I gave birth to my daughter without using pain meds and pride myself in taking only one pain pill after my appendix was removed).  Actually needing pain medicine so I could function was a shock for me and one I fought valiantly against. 

I had to give in – the pain was too severe.   (Thankfully, my pain is finally getting better which I can attribute to either my mouth healing or the wonders of pain meds). 

In the midst of missing some work for the dental appointments, dealing with pain, worrying about hubby’s gigantic legs (and throwing in an afternoon off to take Robert to a neurology appointment as well as watching Robert’s cold come back), I was working on several projects at the office with deadlines this week.

The interview on Friday was looming and even though I could do it over the lunch hour, I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to finish a project that is due Friday. 

I reluctantly bowed out but cringed when Denise told me she wondered if this would be too much.  She didn’t mean anything negative by it – she just has no idea how neurotic I am.

I don’t want to admit anything is too much!  I can do it – I mean, really, I could.  My thinking is unless I am completely incapacitated, I can make it happen. 

I certainly don’t like saying, “I can’t” because it sounds to me too much like, “I have failed.” 

Is that really true, though?  Maybe it’s okay to say, “No, not this time” without it meaning failure. 

Maybe it’s okay to say, “This is too much” even if I’m still standing.   

Sometimes, there is a reason things happen and things end up working out for the best.  What was just a little congestion all week and even up until a few hours ago took a terrible turn tonight and Robert is now running a fever, coughing and wheezing.  It’s actually a relief that I declined the interview (although, obviously, I couldn’t have known Robert would be getting this sick at the time).

Maybe The Universe is testing me but maybe it’s also trying to help me out. 

Even though I won’t be discussing working and caregiving with a panel of talented men and women, I will be doing some working and caregiving and hope to be able to join them in their discussions next time. 

(Please keep your fingers crossed for Robert – let’s hope this cold doesn’t get any worse).

What?! Wait! I Have to do Math!?

My biggest concern about moving Robert in with us was the responsibility of his medications.  Will I be able to keep them in stock? Will I remember to give them to him at the right time? Will I be able to organize his refills and keep the Day Program stocked with Robert’s mid-day medications as well?

Robert's Spreadsheet of medications

I worried because if Robert doesn’t get his meds on time or if he misses a dose, the consequences are extreme (increased seizures which result in increased falls which lead to injuries).    

The concern I didn’t think about: I’d have to do math!  Yikes!

Don’t get me wrong – I can do math.  I have a college degree although it is in psychology, not math.  (Other Brother, on the “other” hand, does have a degree in math from a prestigious university.) 

Other Brother is also an actuary and partner in a multi-national actuarial firm.  When we were kids, our dad would randomly give us math problems and Other Brother was always the first one with the correct answer.  (I could eventually answer the question but it took me a while; Robert was usually chasing bugs or frogs and didn’t pay attention long enough to answer).   

So I can do math, I just have to r-e-a-l-l-y think about it when I’m doing it.

I created a medication spreadsheet and was grateful to other caregivers for giving me advice on what information to include.  During move-out day, I carefully counted the medications Old New Home gave me.  Once home, I put this information on my spreadsheet. 

I counted how many days I had left with the medication they transferred to me.  I counted the number of days left until the refill date the new pharmacy had given me.  There are nine medications to keep track of, each one with a different number of pills to be given at various times of the day.  To complicate things, the pharmacy changed one medication from a 1 mg dose to a 2 mg dose (which doesn’t matter since he gets that medication in 2 mg increments but it does mean more math for me).

My plan is to fill his medication containers each Saturday with one week of pills.  The first time I did it, I needed complete silence in the house for concentration and counted, checked, re-checked and then updated my spreadsheet.  I added, subtracted, multiplied, wrote numbers on scraps of paper, consulted the spreadsheet and threw in some calculus and geometry for good measure (okay, I kid about that last part). 

I checked everything again just in case.

It took me close to an hour (in part because it’s impossible to keep this household full of dogs, cats, a husband and Robert quiet for very long). 

This past Saturday went quicker.  The math is getting easier and I’m feeling better about the medication issues (and I don’t insist on quiet).

There are still a few bugs to be worked out – one of Robert’s medications couldn’t be filled at our pharmacy because, for whatever reason, Old New Home had filled it at their pharmacy.  (Um, heads up to Old New Home: Robert doesn’t live there any longer!). 

I checked with Day Program and they have enough medication to last at least two weeks.

Robert doesn’t have his emergency medication (Ativan) because Old New Home realized it was expired so they didn’t give it to me.  Robert sees his neurologist tomorrow so I’ll get a new prescription for that.

Thankfully, my worst fears have not been realized but at least I was prepared for them.  Preparation and asking for help from others who have done this for a while were essential to being ready. 

That and having a calculator . . .