Dear Readers,
I seem to have fallen off the radar. I posted Chapter 12 of this blog over 17 months ago!
Much has happened since. A ton of caregiving. I don't remember a lot of the details, because I will be 80 on my next birthday, and I am awash in senior moments. But I am going to figure out some way around that cerebral fog and keep on typing. Let's see how I do.
I do remember leaving Michigan and coming to Appleton, Wisconsin, in late 2014, a couple months after Carol Ann, my wife of 48 years, died of small-cell lung cancer. My mission in Appleton was to look after my sister, Rawbaw, “for a couple of weeks” after her discharge from St. Elizabeth Hospital. The next thing I knew, I had been here for a couple of years, and many of you close to the caregiving experience can identify with that!
Suffice it to say that Rawbaw has many diabetes-related maladies (both physical and mental). I may now be an adopted son of Wisconsin. I simply couldn't let her slide into an elder care facility and lose her home, her privacy, and her beloved dog. I moved in and became her caregiver, advocate, chauffeur, companion, housekeeper, cook, recreation director, dog walker, and social secretary. Out of gratitude (?), she has dubbed me “Slave.”
No, Rawbaw doesn't have cancer. So, some of my blog readers may wonder why I'm still writing a blog for ICAN, which specializes in advocating for Stage IV cancer patients. To that I say: this woman just lost her youngest son, age 47, to pancreatic cancer. So, she and I have both lost loved ones to the disease — and she urges me to keep doing what I can for Marcia K. Horn's extremely worthy cause at ICAN. That argument works for me!
There are organizations deserving of serious research dollars to combat many major diseases, but I am guessing, from personal experience, that cancer in its many forms is Public Enemy Number One. It seems that all Americans either know someone who has it or have had the bad luck to get it, themselves. Cancer is pervasive — certainly in the U.S., possibly around the world. Reason enough for me to help ICAN with deeds and donations, for sure.
Since relocating to Wisconsin, I've really begun to blend in. I root for the Green Bay Packers and eat my weight in string cheese. The locals initially pegged me as a Michigander, but now I've got a Wisconsin driver's license in my wallet and Wisconsin plates on my car, which should accelerate my full assimilation into Appleton society.
What have I learned since Chapter 12?
Perhaps most important, I've learned that uncontrolled diabetes can ravage both the mind and body. This has been a valuable lesson for me, because I'm a Type 2 diabetic, myself. (I have really started to toe the line!)
I've also learned that I'll miss my late wife (another Type 2 diabetic) until I can track her down in the afterlife. I'm still wearing my wedding ring, and I'm still talking to her! (Old habits die hard.)
I was also comforted to observe that life comes at us only one day at a time. Hey, I can handle THAT! Just knowing that a really crumby day ends at midnight on the dot is a real gift. I sleep like a baby — and the day after a crumby one is almost always a better day. This attitude has kept me out of anger management classes.
(It helps, too, that I have always avoided anger, because it feels so awful. So frustrating and unproductive. My time is always better spent cooling my jets and working to resolve whatever it is that bugs me.)
Lastly, I've learned not to be afraid of what caregiving demands of me. I will do all that I can. It's that simple. As Clint Eastwood said while portraying Detective “Dirty Harry” Callahan in the movie, “Magnum Force,” “A man has got to know his limitations.” When my mind and body fail me (and they're both showing clear signs of major wear and tear!), I will do less than before.
The senior moments are piling up, and I am certainly not the man mountain I used to be. But I'm blessed with an accepting mentality. We're born with a lot of zip, but eventually we can't do zip. No exceptions. Got it. I'd really be ticked if I were the only one getting old, but I know better.
Yes, I'm growing philosophical as I age, and my “bucket list” is growing commensurately. You may wander into your favorite bar someday and see me strumming a guitar and singing, “I've Grown Accustomed to Your Smile.” First, of course, I'll have to learn how to play guitar. Which means I'll have to buy one. (I bought a cast-iron banjo 30 or 40 years ago, but never played it. Must have given it away. Probably a good idea.)
In short, once I'm no longer a caregiver (and if I don't end up with one, myself!), I'll do many things I've never done before. I've tentatively planned to live to be at least 100 years old (barring a major illness or the proverbial Mack Truck). Ideally, my prolonged self-indulgence in my final decades on Earth will include my first ocean cruise (not counting the U.S. Army troop ship voyages in 1960 and 1962), one last road trip through America's Southwest (the corner of this country that tugs at me most), and a flight to Ireland to trace my roots, with the presumption (from what little I know about my genealogy) that I'm as Irish as Paddy's pig.
I promise not to let another 17 months slip by before I write to you again. There is a Chapter 14 bubbling inside me, because I am a caregiver — and because I am a huge fan of Marcia K. Horn, who really rocks.
—Michael E. Hearons
