Oliver: Caregiving can be even harder when injury enters the picture

The need for patience when caregiving is obvious. Oftentimes we caregivers are in a situation that we didn’t anticipate, and we are required to complete tasks for which we feel unprepared.

When one’s charge has dementia, the need for patience is amplified. With each stage of dementia, the situations that require patience change, but the need never diminishes.

For instance, when it takes 10 minutes to get Tony to take his pills, that can be a challenge.

The other night, it took about 15 minutes to get him to spit out his toothpaste. That I tried every trick in my trick bag didn’t help. Adding to difficulty was that I was exhausted and ready for bed.

As humans, we caregivers can and will lose our patience. It goes with the territory. That, however, often spurs guilt and regret, as if somehow, we could have kept our cool if we had just tried a little harder. Alas, that thinking isn’t helpful, and I’ll admit that I’m still working on it.

But what can be even more challenging when one is a caregiver is showing patience when we find ourselves hobbled in some way in our ability to do our caregiving job.

I’ve found my patience with myself being tested mightily after I suffered an unexpected fall about a month ago.

I was taking out the trash and even was reminding myself to be extra careful. I use a wheelbarrow to take out the full trash bag, and our recycling bin has wheels. I’m all about mechanical advantages.

As I was taking the bag out of the wheelbarrow, I remembered that I needed to be careful because some utility work had been done in our parkway and the area now has landscape netting. At first, I thought the mesh was a bit of litter. I was surprised when I realized it was attached.

Somehow as I was turning back to the wheelbarrow to roll it back into the garage, my foot caught on the landscape netting. Down I went to the ground, half in the street and horrified.

Perhaps it was embarrassment as well as adrenaline that got me up and back into the house. I hadn’t at that point even considered the possibility that my neighbors’ doorbell cameras might have picked up my less-than-graceful fall. (Perhaps it will be comic relief for someone.)

However, when I found myself sobbing in my hallway, I started to get a clearer picture of the injury. I had hurt my driving-leg hip, but I knew that I hadn’t broken it because I could put weight on it and still could negotiate stairs.

But walking was a problem. This, of course, caused a spiral of self-pity when it became apparent that even helping Tony to the bathroom was going to be a herculean effort. Thankfully, we had an old pair of crutches from the mid-1990s, and they came in handy.

Since I’ve fallen in the past, I figured that I’d be fine in a couple of days. I even set targets for when I’d be able to get back to driving. After all, I had appointments to go to.

Oliver Family logistics already require that I find someone to sit with Tony when I go somewhere. Now, I also had to find rides for myself. This sudden loss of what little independence I have certainly tested my patience.

However, I learned quickly that my friends are more than willing to help. I just need to swallow my pride long enough to let them.

I’ve also had to get used to the ebb and flow of recovery. I’ve had a couple of setbacks I didn’t expect, but the progress has been steady. That has reminded me to be realistic about the length of time it will take. Suddenly I understand a little better what athletes go through. It really is as much a mental exercise as it is a physical one.

The other thing that’s helped is to control the things I can control. For the first couple of weeks, cleaning the house wasn’t an option. As hard as it was, I knew that I’d risk another setback if I tried. I told myself that it could wait.

Happily, Tony seems to understand (at least momentarily) that I’m not moving as easily as I usually do. I’ve appreciated his patience. Or maybe he’s just happy that I now move at his (slower) speed.

If it really does take six to eight weeks for recovery, then I’ve got at least another couple of weeks to go.

That’s just more time to practice my patience.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.