As it turned out, I met Edith for lunch yesterday in Cherry Hill, not Smithville. She was worried about driving in the heavy rain, so I said I'd go up there. What a hassle! I left home at 11:00 and didn't get to her house until almost 2. Will never trust Mapquest again (but I always go back to it--sounds like a foiled romance).
Anyway, it was great to be with Edith, whose husband has a variety of physical and mental ailments. What a relief to talk to people also in caregiver situations (they rarely have preconceived notions). Illness and disability seem to frighten and/or embarrass people who aren't intimately involved in it. They try to make themselves more comfortable by assigning the caregiver--that's me, folks--preconceived, and totally stereotypical roles: the saintly and devoted wifey, happy to be of constant service to her ailing spouse; the martyr sobbing into the urinal who never considers her own needs; the top sergeant, grimly doing her duty; the caregiver who is "in denial" (the next time I hear that creepy cliche, I'll scream), so the observer needs to set her straight with the unpleasant facts...
Well, they mean well, I guess. Another comment, as long as I'm on this track: Americans have been raised to believe there's a solution to every problem and if you just try hard enough, or consult the right expert, or find the secret cure, all will be well. One of the most trying aspects about being a caregiver is receiving unsolicited advice. Honest and true, when I want advice, I'll ask for it. Of course, IF a absolutely positive cure comes up AND there's no chance Pat or I would have heard about it AND it's been tested and proven and is on the market, why I want to be told and I'll walk through fire to get it. Unfortunately, there's about as much chance of that as of Bush reverting back to human form.
Yoicks, this has been a tirade, but after all, it's my blog and I'm feeling reckless and devil-may-care. Also, tonight, I'm meeting another Wellspouse friend, Vivian, at her house in Barneget and we're going up to mysterious Manalapan for a WS dinner and meeting. Am looking forward to it with great pleasure.
Oh, and what about my "Illspouse," as we Wellspouses say? Well, I'll leave him dinner and the phone, and will call him several times on the cellphone--I'm sure he'll be fine. No-o-o, I'm not the sacrificial and devoted little wifey and I sure am hell am not sitting at home eschewing a social life and crying into the urinal.