Caregiver shaming

I slept pretty well last night and woke up reasonably ready to go.  When I got up, I found Ron in the kitchen, drinking.  [sigh]  At least he ate something after he had his vodka. 

Still no appetite on my end so I'm not eating.  I keep hearing fasting is "good", well, we will see. 

He has done a pretty good job of taking care of himself, the last couple days.  He admitted he needs a bath, and his shirt is filthy (just wearing a shirt and underwear), but he's well.   So are the cats. 

I am a member of a couple of online message boards.  On one, I saw some caregiver shaming and was on the end of it myself. 

I had made a joke about my toilet offending people.  Some saw it as funny but one said "But you're a caregiver!"  as if that meant I was obligated to be a spotless housekeeper as well.  Not quite. 

But you see that a lot when you're a caregiver, backseat "drivers" who want to tell you what a terrible job you're doing.  How can you let him drink?  He will kill himself!  (as if I didn't know)  You let him eat sausage out of a can, for breakfast?  How could you?   For others, it may be "you let him do that?", "He dressed himself?"  "You should really take her to the hairdresser!"  "What happened to your nails, they used to be so pretty?" 

Some of that is expected.  Some people show love that way.  I see that in some of my readers, they worry, they share their concerns.  I don't necessarily see that as caregiver shaming.  They are truly worried about us.  I know some of them want to spank me for choosing to stay, and I'm OK with that. 

But one guy I saw, his mother lived alone and he got terrible flack for it.  Maybe she wants to live alone.  Maybe she likes to be naked when she's at home.  Maybe she has 30 cats.  It's her life, she can live alone if she wants. 

Ron makes bad decisions on a regular basis, and it is hard not to let it reflect on me.  He is an alcoholic.  He eats poorly (I don't think a can of sausages, for breakfast, really counts as "nutrition").  What's worse, whenever he's in the hospital he talks about how they bring him meals in bed, as if I don't cook for him and serve him meals (which he doesn't eat, and he loves my cooking).  He just sees food as an obstacle to vodka absorption, so he avoids it until after he has drunk.  And it is virtually impossible to tailor meal prep to his drinking schedule, which changes every day.  He gets up at the last minute, so sometimes he leaves the house with a less-than-perfect shirt.  It's awkward for me, and embarrassing.

I wish I could do "more", but I am disabled.  I do my best, and, last I saw, I'm the only one in Ron's corner.  I remember after Ron's accident.  He had been given a medication that made him a "gorker" for lack of a better phrase.  He had made some good progress since waking up from the coma but he just turned into this - thing.  It was awful.  He didn't talk, he was "obtunded", he was unresponsive, he was scary.  But I was committed, I was going to take care of him. 

I had a lot of pressure at the time, his family had just dumped him because Ron said "If you can't treat Heather with the respect due my wife I don't want you around."  I was so proud of him.  That was one of the best moments of our marriage. 

But it cost us, they had promised all sorts of things, hospital beds, home care, etc.  Now I was going to have to do it all alone.  I would have to sleep on the floor (Ron did, prior to the accident, due to his back - he just had a mattress on the floor).  Ron would get the "good bed" and I would just have to make everything work. 

He used to do something very sweet back then.  He would put his left arm around me, and then he would pull his "dead" right arm around me, too.  I found it tremendously romantic. 

It reminded me of the old poem.  "A Wing Grew".  http://www.mooreschools.com/cms/lib/OK01000367/Centricity/Domain/1344/A%20Man.pdf

So, one day he refused his medication.  I cried all over his shoulder as he pulled his dead arm around me, and he whispered into my hair, it's going to be OK.  I told him, I'm disabled, I can't do it all for you, I'll try, but I won't be able, and I don't have all the stuff you need, you should be in rehab, everyone says, but that's out because you have no insurance...

He squeezed me and told me that I loved him, that is what he needed.  He didn't need all the stuff, or a perfect caregiver, he just needed someone to love him.  I remind myself of that when I get down about not being able to do "everything" for him. 

I hang onto that.  I may not be perfect, but I love him.  That's what he wants.