Sometimes caregivers can feel a bit guilty for dwelling on their own fatigue. After all, what is a little fatigue compared to painful battle with cancer?
In my case, I have a Rapid Eye Movement (REM) sleep disorder. That means I stay in the dream state and don’t go into deep restorative level. I haven’t had a full time job in years. I was the stay-at-home full-time dad while my wife was the wage-earner. So I’m really glad I have this opportunity to show my appreciation to my wife for not kicking me out of the house. However, I’ve already had a heart attack and have a stent. Chronic sleep loss leads to heart problems and makes the sufferer more vulnerable to stroke.
For the past couple of years I’ve been writing this blog. Right now I’m up to posting three times a week—a story or opinion piece on Mondays, the cancer chronicle on Wednesday and a novella chapter on Fridays. Wednesday is the day I take my wife to chemotherapy which takes about two hours. Most times we drop in at a fast food restaurant for takeout on the way home. After what she’s been through at the clinic, my wife deserves to eat anything she wants. Then occasionally we have to stop by the drug store to pick up a prescription refill for her or me. At both places she stays in the car while I go in to take care of the business. By the time we get home we’ve been on the go for three or four hours. After I help her to get settled on the sofa, I don’t feel like posting on the blog so I get behind schedule. I don’t think anyone notices or cares if a post is a day or two late. After all, it’s free to the reader anyway. But I feel bad about not being consistent. That adds to my stress which makes the fatigue problem worse. Still, it’s nothing compared to enduring chemotherapy, so I should just suck it up and keep quiet.
Yet, if I end up having another heart attack or having a stroke, I won’t be any good for my wife, so it is for her benefit, I suppose, that I be a little concerned about how I am feeling. It’s okay to ask for help.
We are fortunate that our son has chosen to live at home. He is a corrections officer with twelve-hour days and a screwball schedule of three days on, two days off, two days on and three days off. When his days off fall on a Wednesday he can take his mother to the clinic for therapy. He is arranging days off from the prison when his mother has her mastectomy. It’s nice to have him at home when I need help lifting his mother when she’s feeling really incapacitated. He also keeps up with household chores that I can’t handle anymore
No one bothers with whose turn it is to do something. We will get through this situation by working together. No gripes, no guilt, just love.