When someone is diagnosed with cancer, it’s incredibly time-consuming. I got a new job in September, one that I applied for when I married Leah and said “In sickness and in health.” After nineteen years of health, we’re bracing ourselves for the other part of the deal.
At the end of every day, I find myself feeling like I’ve accomplished nothing, and yet I’ve been busy all day. So I decided to track my activities to give you (and me) an understanding of what a caregiver’s day might look like.
6:30am. Eesah begins pacing. I shut the bedroom door and try to go back to sleep. He paces by the door with his curled arthritic toenails clicking on the linoleum, and then stands by his food dish and stares toward the bedroom door for two minutes. I can feel his watery old eyes. He stands there just long enough for me to fall back asleep. Then he paces by the door again. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, waking me up as my brain tells reminds me that his elderly bladder is full and he is at risk of having an accident. He falls down on his bed and sighs. I fall back asleep for two minutes. He paces by the door again and stands at his food dish, staring. This goes on until I get out of bed, or until he pees on the floor.
7am. I get out of bed. I feed the dogs and go outside with them to pick up poops and yell at Henny when she barks at squirrels, deer, leaves, wind, and Olive the Evil Possessed Chihuahua who lives next door.
7:20am. I wash my face, make coffee, put away last night’s dishes, and tidy up the other things strewn about the house as I wonder how the heck we always end up with so much stuff strewn about the house.
7:40am. I sit down with my coffee, check Facebook for any Life Altering Posts, and email my mom.
8am. Leah gets up. Eesah starts pacing again so I throw him outside.
8:15am. I call the contractor. I forgot to pay him for when he replumbed the tenant’s toilet. I recorded the payment in Quickbooks but never actually wrote the check. This is the caregiver’s brain. I tell him the check will go out in the mail today. As soon as I hang up the phone, I forget to write the check.
8:20am. Leah has already written a blog post. I edit it, and hug her and kiss her all over her face and tell her how amazing she is.
8:30am. I start the phone calls. Appointment for the Honda’s brakes. Changing my allergy appointment which conflicts with a post-op appointment. I switch to emails about cupcake wholesale orders.
9am. I put in the second load of laundry this morning. I can’t even remember putting the first in when I got up, but there it is.
9:05am. I make breakfast. I clean up from breakfast. I put dishes away. Again. I let Eesah out. Again. I don’t remember letting him in.
9:45am. I am still in my pajamas. Two and a half hours has past. I wonder what the heck I’ve accomplished, because it feels like nothing. I get dressed. I post cupcake pictures on the business Facebook page, watch a video on crow funerals, and read the daily Ithaca Voice and NPR news headlines. I call the trash company and tell them they forgot our bins again. I call the soda company and ask them where our refund check is. I mapquest the Rochester doctor’s office. I email the Cancer Resource Center to ask about local oncologists. I put the third load of laundry in the dryer. I let Eesah out again.
10:30am. We go for a walk, doctor’s orders. In the surgeon’s words, “You aren’t sick. Nothing is wrong with your legs. Get out there and walk.”
11:30am-6pm. Doctor’s visit in Rochester, combined with a trip to Trader Joe’s and/or Target and/or visiting my parents. Alternately, go to Felicia’s to bake and deliver cupcakes to the wholesale accounts. Alternately, go to other job (as soon as I find one).
6:30pm. I make dinner.
7:45pm. I write checks and do some bookkeeping, or go to store, or reply to more emails, or give Eesah a bath, or research cupcake recipes, or fill out our liquor license application, or gather materials for the health department permit, or hang the tenant’s curtains rods, or paint a wall, or take out the compost, or fill the bird feeder, or design a historical landmark gingerbread house, or mow the lawn in the dark, or bake granola.
9pm. We watch the Great British Bake Off. I feel guilty for sitting down. I make tomorrow’s to-do list. I remind myself that I have it easy: Leah can walk and talk and bathe herself and get in and out of the car and think and plan and create and laugh and heal and get through this and come out even stronger on the other side.
10:30pm. We go to bed and I snuggle up to Leah’s good side. I feel grateful.
Leah’s in great hands, you both are so strong and vibrant. Thinking of you.