The SNAFU

December 22, 2019

It seems as though every time I try to go out of town for a few days of rest and recuperation, something stress-inducing happens at my husband's facility. Here's the latest one. Keep in mind, this is a terrific place; however, stuff happens. It happens everywhere. It just happens less there than in other places we've tried.

Prior to leaving, I dutifully sent an email to the administrator to let her know, officially, the dates I would not be available. I also included the name and number of my other contact person (our son) for this particular period of time. I told the director. I told the office manager. I told the activities director. I told the med tech who was on duty, and I saw her writing down the contact information and placing it in the med tech office. I told the caregivers.

Upon returning, there were a whole lot of messages from the facility on my land-line answering machine (curiously, none at all on my cell phone). I called back to see what the problem was, and I was told that I needed to pick up an emergency supply of a particular medication right away. It had been reordered; however, the med tech who did the ordering didn't realize that the prescription had no refills remaining. That takes longer to resolve, as we all know, and the doctor hadn't yet renewed the prescription.

I am not proud of my reaction, which was basically "Hello?! It says '0 refills' right on the bottle!" But in my defense, I had just walked in the door after a very long, delayed, stressful, and bumpy flight. I was exhausted, and my injured foot (long story) was killing me. (Who knew walking ten miles to your gate at the airport could be so excruciating? I apologize for every uncharitable thought I've ever had about anyone slowing me down. I feel your pain.) Once again, my vacation buzz was shot down within minutes of returning home.

The main reason I was upset, though, was that my "person to contact in case of problem" had not been contacted when I didn't respond. At all. Not once. This, I did not understand. And then the med tech I was speaking to told me he had no idea I'd been gone and was wondering why I hadn't returned all those phone calls. So why didn't they call my son, whose information is right there in their normal paperwork? This was a small-potatoes type of event, but what if it had been something terrible? What if something had happened to me, and that's why I wasn't responding? Would they just have left a bunch of messages on my answering machine, or would they have called my next-in-line?

Clearly, I am not having a very good day today. Tomorrow, I think I'd better go have a small chat with the administrator.* Perhaps next time there's an issue (and there will be a next time, even in the best circumstances), the dominoes won't all fall down. And while I'm at it, I think I'd better apologize to the med tech for my unfortunate, over-the-top reaction.

I saw this posted on Facebook today. It perfectly describes my current mood! It's available from a place called "A Beautiful Sign." I think I'll order one.

*Update:  Everything worked out, of course. An emergency supply of medication was expedited, careful notes were taken about my concerns, and the next staff meeting will include instruction to ensure this particular scenario isn't repeated for us or for any of the other residents.

Caregiver Stress Syndrome

"Everything will be better after you place him," they said. But it isn't as though the stress and trauma and worry have abated. Not one bit. It isn't as though I put my head down on the pillow and fall asleep for 8 hours. It isn't as though I wake up refreshed and relaxed. Far from it. Everything is not, in fact, better. Not at all.

I live in dread of the phone ringing early in the morning as it did last Saturday, telling me my husband was ambulanced to the nearest emergency room because he couldn't breathe. I go to sleep and wake up two hours later, drenched in nervous perspiration, feeling my heart beating its way right out of my chest, having another panic attack. If I do happen to sleep a bit longer -- say, for four hours -- I have disturbing dreams that prevent me from dozing off again.

There are an embarrassing number of things on my to-do list that have been there for months. But I either feel too exhausted to think of doing any of them, or I just don't care. And then I become overwhelmed at the long list of items waiting for my attention. A simple phone call becomes an ordeal to be anguished over for days before the receiver is lifted and the number dialed. Any decision to be made, no matter how simple, might as well be a climb up Mt. Everest. Every challenge must be ruminated over for days, lest the wrong decision be reached. And so analysis paralysis sets in, preventing any decision's being made at all.

The irony of all this is that I am not a shrinking violet, I am not a person who can't face things head-on, and I am not a wimp. Usually. But the ongoing, unrelenting, daily trauma of this situation is wearing me down in spite of my best efforts to enlist support, talk out my feelings, deal with my emotions, and pray for guidance from the One Who can help me best. Sometimes, the skies are brass, the clouds are thick, and the rain pours down unabated.

You'd think that having once hit the wall, that would be that. I didn't realize I would be slammed against the wall again and again, over and over, a figurative punching bag for every emotion passing by. There's nothing "post" about this daily, ongoing, never-ending tension.

Caregivers, does this sound familiar? Please do yourself a favor. Talk to a professional. That's what I'm going to do tomorrow.*

*Update:  I did it. It was worth it. Do it. Do it sooner than I did.