Back Home Again

Sometimes you return from a long journey or vacation and you feel like a new person, or even that you have a new lease on life. At other times you return home and you feel like nothing has changed, you pick up right where you left off as if nothing happened in between. Despite the revelations on Cindy’s harmful medicine that I stopped and the subsequent improvement with her legs, returning home felt more like the “ol’ same ol’” rather than coming back with our lives turned around. This partially explains my recent behavior.

For similar behavior I hearken back 25 years to a time when we were taking care of my Mom with Alzheimer’s. Noah was only one and Charissa was on the way. With Cindy’s situation as new mom, I needed to be both the sole breadwinner and the main care giver for my Mom. My principal at the high school was playing games with me, something for which he subsequently sent me a letter to admit he made a mistake. The second floor was undergoing renovations, except for Mom whose room was kept the same. Our family was crammed downstairs along with much of the stuff from the second floor. The climactic tipping point came when I drove in to do schoolwork on New Year’s Eve during an ice storm, sliding off the road and wrecking the car in the process.

These were the background conditions when one day I misplaced my keys. I got so frustrated at trying to find them I punched a hole in the wall. Misplacing the keys were the least of my troubles, of course, but the only one that allowed me to vent. If I vented in reaction to any of the other stuff I would be venting all the time and my ability to deal with life’s conditions compromised. The missing keys provided one isolated incident for letting out my frustrations, as well as a good story for the family to laugh about over the years.

Returning home two days ago I expected there would be issues, but this time they seemed particularly daunting. One issue brought to my attention actually was being resolved. A claim of $175,000 was made against us which, if it held, would have put us out of our home. The claim was for an alleged dog bite (the dog warden redacted that allegation in the report and inserted the more accurate “scratch” for the small marks that were healed within a week). Our insurance company thought the somewhat frivolous claim worthy of hiring lawyers to contest, who in turn brought in a mediator. The mediator settled the claim for $60,000. Our home insurance could absorb in its entirety, yet the frivolity of the whole situation was galling.

Add to that a credit card issue caused by some bot deciding I must have been up to something when I tried to pay my bills through web banking while down in Florida. Rather than alert me to my “suspicious” behavior the bot simply decided not to pay, which I only found out when I got my next credit card bill, now doubled with late and interest fees tacked on. There’s probably a reduced credit score lurking somewhere in cyberspace for me as well.

As I went through the mountain of mail I discovered a notice from Social Security dated February 3, instructing us to see someone on February 10 for Cindy’s disability redetermination. I did not see the notice until we got back on February 11. My previous experiences with Social Security and the state’s comparable department suggest to me that I now have a bunch of bureaucratic hurdles and lots of time “on hold” in my future.

Then there were the little things, like our plane having computer problems and our flight delayed. That was significant in that we were forced to do our grocery shopping at night as a result. Some additional small headaches resulted from the ensuing sequence of events. Cindy left the passenger car door wide open while we were shopping. I usually check to make sure she closes the door but I guess I had other things on my mind. I also gave her the light duty of bringing in the mail while I carried in all the groceries. She wants to be useful, but she dropped the mail in the snow.

I cannot afford to get upset over things Cindy cannot help, even in private. They are as insignificant as misplacing keys but occur regularly. Nor can I punch holes in the wall until the Social Security snafu gets resolved; I suspect the house would look like swiss cheese by then. Ah, but an unsuspecting motorist provided just the focused frustration I needed late in the day of our return.

I was following a car going a little less than the speed limit, staying a good distance behind at night. I have my flaws as a driver but I never tailgate. The same can’t be said for the oversized pick-up truck that came up behind me in the dark featuring a veritable light show behind me, including headlights at about the same level as my rear windshield. The truck appeared to be no more than one car’s length behind me with his obnoxious lights. I slowed down. He put his high beams on. I slowed down further. I was driving about 20 mph when he made a turn. I’ll never know whether he had to make that turn or was using an alternative route to avoid being behind me further.

I know I’m not the only driver who gets irritated when being tailgated by a much larger vehicle (or any vehicle for that matter). Yet who knows what the story was with that driver. Some are clueless; some are distracted; some are in a hurry; some face an emergency. I usually keep that in mind while on the road, you never know what other drivers are going through. I also go out of my way to extol the virtues of kindness, for which such retaliation as mine does not fit.

Slowing down to retaliate is one thing, yet what really tells me something is the satisfaction I got; in fact, I was a tad disappointed when he turned off. I was going through a “misplaced key” moment. I needed to focus my frustrations and the driver behind me received the brunt of that, deserving or not. Who knows, perhaps he also was getting satisfaction from having his high beams shining just above my bumper.

Ah, I know what you are thinking. Caregivers beware. I come across many articles warning about the stress consequences of care giving; I even post a few on my Facebook page. On the whole I’m OK; I really am. In many ways I am the ideal care giver. I love and enjoy being with my “patient.” I tend to be a “cup half full,” silver lining kind of guy. I typically am light-hearted over troubling situations and can joke about them. Don’t underestimate the value of being able to joke about your troubles. I also am following my own advice that I am compiling for my Brain Health Checklist, part of which is aimed at reducing stress.

I can handle being her full time caregiver with minimum stress or frustration … usually. I can handle all the little issues of life that crop up … usually. Yet occasionally I fail to see the glass as half full and need to vent a little frustration. I just figure that venting on a blog is better than antagonizing others or punching a hole in the wall.