During the ten years that I cared for my partner as
she navigated the world of terminal lung cancer, I was
often told by well-meaning people to take care of
myself. After all, if I didn’t take care of myself, how
would I have the energy to take care of anyone else?
They dispensed advice like Pez candy, rattling off ways
I could make life easier on myself: eat healthy meals,
take long walks, meditate, take a bath or go shopping.
They had no idea how impractical their suggestions were.
Exercising and eating healthy, let alone
meditating or relaxing in a bath, were not even on
my radar, especially during the last six months of
Vick’s life. Anxiety, exhaustion and stress ruled my
days. I was educated as a counselor and understood
that I needed to shore up my reserves in order to be
there for my partner, but I found myself unable to
practice any of the self-care techniques I had been
taught. Depleted, I knew I had to find a way to
increase my energy and keep my mind alert—if not for
my own sake, then for Vick’s.
I wondered who else works the way caregivers do,
under such mentally and emotionally taxing
conditions? While watching an episode of the Nightly
News, the answer came – Soldiers in battle must
survive life-threatening encounters and keep their
wits about them. How do they do it? And, if it was
possible for them, could it also be possible for me?
A few clicks of the mouse, and I had the answers and
the strategies I needed.
Combat soldiers don’t take the time to eat
healthy meals while dodging sniper bullets, nor do
they wake early during a mission and meditate to
reduce stress. Instead, according to a presentation
created by Walter Reed Army Institute of Research,
titled “Battlemind Training, Preparing for War: What
Soldiers Should Know and Do,” soldiers are taught
They learn how to meet challenges head on, how to
utilize the support of others and how to develop
inner strength to combat their greatest fears.
I could not alter the course of my partner’s
illness, anymore than a combat soldier can change
the attitudes of those he is fighting against. But I
could adopt a few of the mental tricks soldiers
learn for dealing with the overwhelming tasks I
faced.
Taking my cue from the soldier training, I
assessed my situation by creating a list of tasks
for which I was responsible. This list included
monitoring and dispensing numerous medications,
planning and cooking meals, feeding our animals,
cleaning the house and maintaining the yard,
managing my full-time career and my emotions while
making my partner comfortable and safe during her
daily seizure episodes and declining oxygen levels.
No wonder I was exhausted! Yet, there was no
retreat. I had to face the challenges in front of
me; and as I thought it over, I realized it was my
choice how I dealt with these many challenges. I
could react to each new medical symptom with
complaint and drama, or I could meet the challenges
head on, as the soldiers are taught to do, and take
care of what needed to be taken care of in the
moment. This realization stopped my internal whining
and allowed a well of strength to rise up from
somewhere deep inside, reducing the amount of
anxiety I carried. Taking a good look at what I had
to do and what I wanted to do did not stop what was
happening to Vick, but it did stop some of my
anxiety about all the issues we were facing.
The assessment also showed me how insane it was
to do all of these items on my own. I knew I needed
help and needed it fast. So, when people asked me if
there was anything they could do, my answer became
“Yes!” I would rattle off the tasks that I needed
done, and let the person decide which one suited him
or her best. This new declaration resulted in
delegating my credit card and grocery shopping to my
mother, house cleaning to my sister-in-law, and yard
maintenance to our neighbors. I also gave up the
need to be a hostess to the numerous people who came
to sit with Vick. Utilizing the support of others in
this way helped me to fend off some of the
exhaustion I had been enduring.
Reducing the level of internal complaining and
the number of tasks on my never-ending to-do list
allowed me more energy. However, nothing helped as
much as the attempt I made to adopt the third tenet
of soldier training – trust. Soldiers are taught to
trust their military training as a way to help them
move through fear and build inner strength. Even
before Vick’s health declined to the point of
needing hospice care, I was enveloped in fear. As
odd as it sounds, I wasn’t afraid of Vick’s
inevitable death as much as I was of not being able
to ease her suffering. I didn’t trust myself, or my
emotional strength, to deal with such outcomes, so I
over-compensated by trying to anticipate her every
need. I constantly asked her how she was feeling and
if she needed water, pain medication, food, or
blankets. A part of me believed that I could
eliminate her suffering, and thus my own, simply by
making her comfortable. Not surprisingly, my
attempts resulted in her feeling suffocated and
controlled.
Family and friends often underestimate the
emotional toil that caregiving places on the
individual. When a terminal illness is involved, the
emotional issues can feel like a continuous crisis.
I knew intellectually that my thoughts were the
cause of my increased anxiety and sleepless nights,
but it wasn’t until I began meeting the challenges
head-on and began using the support of others that I
also began to trust myself and Vick. I made a
decision to be less vigilant and to allow Vick to
ask for what she needed. Then, I began checking in
with myself, asking what I needed in any given
moment, and trusting the answer. Sometimes my
check-in said that I needed to sit quietly with Vick
and read. Other times, it told me I needed to take a
walk or write an email to a trusted friend and
discuss my fears. This small action of checking-in
with myself and honoring the response had the
greatest impact on my level of fear and feelings of
stress. The more I practiced this little ritual, the
more I began to trust myself to survive the
disease’s equivalent of mortar fire.
As I look back on those last six months, changing
my perception and learning to think more like a
soldier not only helped me improve self-care, it
also gave me cherished moments with Vick that I
don’t think I would have had otherwise.
Joan Fay is a freelance
writer and instructional designer who lives and
works in Port Angeles, Washington. She specializes
in topics on caregiving, relationships and distance
education. She can be reached at
joanmfay@msn.com
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