Dementia Home Care in India: a framework to understand it, and suggestions for caregivers and volunteers

As an ex-caregiver who tries to help other caregivers, I continue to be dismayed by how unprepared and unsupported families are through years of exhausting and heart-breaking dementia caregiving. Many families never get a diagnosis. Even those who get a diagnosis rarely get a realistic picture of how much they need to plan, what changes they will have to make in their lives, and how absent systemic support systems are.

Again and again, I find families clueless about the deterioration dementia brings. They do not know that dementia will keep worsening and that the person will become almost fully dependent. They have not registered that they will be using more and more of their time and money and energy for care. They often think dementia as memory problems; they do not know the person’s abilities will keep reducing. This will go on for years, and during this they will see the person deteriorate in heart-breaking ways. They start this journey unprepared, with no one holding their hands.

Almost all dementia care in India happens at home. Advice given to caregivers assumes many things about what families can afford and the time they have for caregiving. Families do not get a realistic picture for effective planning. They remain unaware of many potential problems. Possibly the advisers themselves do not understand the overwhelming and prolonged nature of care. And advisers do not appreciate that 24×7 home care differs from a day job of a trained professional who is part of a multi-disciplinary team. So a lot of their well-meaning advice is impractical because, though good in itself, the advice does not fit the family’s care context.

The fact is, dementia awareness and support in India is so poor that family caregivers have to create their own group of supporters. They have to plan for dementia caregiving and also for self-care. They have to plan finances for a marathon stretch of increased costs and reduced incomes. They have to see how to take out the required time and energy for years of care. They have to prepare for the emotional journey of caring and their stress and fatigue. They have to appreciate the limitations of the systems and support around them, and have realistic expectations. And all such planning has to be done early, because they will not be able to do much planning once they are submerged in intense caregiving.

Home care for someone with dementia is not a simple short-duration activity. Care happens for several years, and in the context of the culture and society and the family’s other obligations and desires. Many long-term decisions are made. We need to view dementia home care as part of this framework in order to understand and plan it better. We have to appreciate the limitations and then seek practical answers.

I have been mulling over this for a while now, and recently I put together my thoughts on such a framework along with some suggestions for caregivers and volunteers. Alas, there are far too many problems, and very few solutions or suggestions. I am not sure how much my presentation will help viewers, but it will surely give them something to think about. Maybe it will prompt families to derive practical approaches for their care situations. Maybe volunteers will find better ways to support families. You can view the presentation below, or view the presentation directly at Slideshare if the player below does not load properly.

Also, some similar posts and pages, and some resources:

If you like this post, please Share/ like this post using the buttons below.

You can also follow this blog by getting email notifications; click the “Follow me” option at the bottom of the right sidebar. Thank you!

Using Online Caregiver Forums: Some Observations and Thoughts

Caregivers need support groups but often find it difficult to get away from their responsibilities and attend an in-person group. Their available free time may be too small a slot, or may not match the time of a scheduled support meeting. The more overwhelmed and stressed the caregiver is, the less likely it is that this caregiver can reach an in-person group.

This situation is really sad because support groups reduce caregiver isolation and provide a safe forum to exchange stories, problems, and suggestions with each other. Attending even a few meetings can transform how caregivers perceive their situation; they start finding the challenges more bearable, the changed behavior is taken less personally, and they are able to use suggestions they get from others and even generate creative solutions themselves.

Given the practical problems related to attending in-person groups, we need to examine the use of online forums for caregiver sharing and support. I am using this blog post to share my observations and thoughts, and give my suggestions, based on a number of online support groups that I have been part of–some as an active participant, and some as a lurker.

There are many types of online caregiver forums. At one end of the range, there are large forums that have structure and moderation and are handled by a group of committed persons/ some volunteer organization, and continue for years. And then we have small, informal groups that some caregivers form to stay connected and support each other, with membership varying from five or six to around fifteen or so.

Let me first share my observations and thoughts about smaller, informal caregiver groups. If you have been part of such groups, I’d love to hear from you about your experiences and impressions…

In the last five years, I have seen many instances of caregivers creating their own online groups. Some groups emerged after caregivers met during some face-to-face support group meeting or caregiver training and decided to stay in touch online. Others emerged when caregivers happened to meet online and decided they needed to get together for mutual support, and therefore gathered a group by bringing in friends (and friends of friends) or using social media. These groups were relatively informal with no active moderation. While some members were volunteers or professionals were included, they were not present in the capacity of a moderator or administrator or even an expert, just present as members.

Firstly, the groups were typically very fast to set up. Some caregiver would tell another, let’s set up something to stay in touch, and then a few of them decided on a technological platform they all were comfortable with and plunged in right away. I’ve seen email groups and Facebook groups (but not bulletin boards) getting kicked off and working full steam within days of someone suggesting starting a group.

The initial momentum was heartening. Caregivers were clearly eager to get and give support and they openly shared their situations and problems, and were generous to each other while empathizing and sharing suggestions. Conversations were meaningful and it was clear that a rapport was building. Of course, the usefulness of the group depended on the members’ availability, involvement, knowledge, and degree of articulation, but definitely most members found the groups helpful.

However, the tempo faded after a while. Participation died down even though no one specifically unsubscribed. Some queries got no responses or just perfunctory responses. Queries stopped after a while. Some subsets formed when two or three caregivers began corresponding directly/ established phone contact, but the online forum was no longer active.

One typical characteristic of these small informal groups was the lack of detailed rules and active moderation. This initially added to the sense of friends getting together, an informal air, and worked in some groups, but not in others.

There were problems, too. Everyone was not happy with the group; some even got stressed by it.

Here’s one example. One caregiver (I’ll call her AAA) was handling an aggressive parent with dementia alone, day and night, and did not have an attendant to help. Siblings had moved away and would not call. None of the other caregivers were facing such a severe challenge; they had at least some family or helper support, and not all were actually handling the daily care tasks. When AAA would post her problems and others responded, she was very unhappy with the responses because she found the responses obviously impractical given her situation (take a break, get help from your sibling) or she felt dismissed because someone would tell her to lighten up (don’t take yourself so seriously, have a good laugh instead, you’ll find it funny when you look back at it later).

After a few such responses, AAA wrote directly to me to say that the group stressed her because she had expected at least fellow caregivers to understand her problems, but now she felt even more isolated. She felt the group was not a safe space for her to unburden herself or seek help. She stopped participating there, and she and I continued our interactions on a one-to-one basis using email and phone. It was ironic and unfortunate that a support group increased her isolation.

I think one problem is the way we respond to online interactions. An in-person support group meeting is an immersive experience; caregivers see facial expressions and hear the emotion in the voices when problems are shared. Even if someone’s situation seems very different from their own, the face-to-face interaction makes it easier to pay attention and feel empathy. Selecting an appropriate response is easier, and it is easier to see when to avoid humor or realize what could sound preachy or trite or judgmental. Suggestions and comments are therefore better worded, longer, and supplemented by gestures and facial expressions that reaffirm the spirit of support.

On the contrary, in an online forum, people may not read posts/ mails carefully, or may type a hasty reply without grasping some key facts from the original post, or may sound harsher than they intended to. Or, even if they write well enough, the person reading it may be oversensitive about some phrase or suggestion, and feel hurt.

My impression, based on my (limited) experience, is that small, informal online groups function better if the members have met each other or talked to each other before interacting through the forum, because even a few earlier interactions or in-person meetings make them more willing to share experiences and create trust. They are also less likely to take offense or interpret responses as put-me-downs.

The problem AAA faced is only partly because of the characteristics inherent in the online mode of interacting. There are other factors, too. We use the word “caregiver” as if all caregivers were the same, but there is a vast diversity in caregiver situations. A small, informal online group of diverse caregivers does not include enough members who can understand and support each other for every type of care situation.

Another thing that made me uncomfortable in some of these groups was when members posted specific suggestions and advice on medication and alternate treatments. These alternate approaches were projected as medically sound, but were recommendations that I knew were scientifically suspect. Data posted to counter the claims was seen as obstructing “helpful” advice. I felt that this was the sort of situation that would typically warrant intervention by a knowledgeable moderator, but the group was not structured for moderation.

None of the groups inducted new members except for a token few in the beginning. Meanwhile, existing caregivers “moved on.” Caregivers don’t need help from the group once the person stabilizes and they get the knack for handling the situation. Or if the person reaches a different state for which the existing support group is irrelevant. Or the person dies, and the caregiver has to resume a career or rebuild a life. My impression was that existing members were not keen on new members because that would be adding an unknown factor in a group that had some sort of rapport.

Let me now share some observations based on a much larger, structured group with formal rules and guidelines on what sort of posts and language are allowed, and with moderators overseeing group functioning. Members include several caregivers coping with diverse care situations.

As in the smaller groups, I saw the participation of individual caregivers change a lot over time. Some rarely posted; others posted actively for some time but then reduced participation or even stopped it; some were sporadic in participation. However, as the number of caregivers was very large, and as new caregivers kept joining, the interactions remained vibrant and helpful. No query remains unanswered. The moderators, too, actively participated and keep the flow of exchanges going.

No group can be free of misunderstanding, and I did see occasional posts that seemed judgmental or harsh but usually some other member or moderator responded almost immediately to express enough empathy with the original poster and related query, thus diffusing any possibility of hurt. Inconsiderate comments were not tolerated. Spam messages or misleading promotion of dubious cures were similarly handled by moderators and other group members.

As I write mainly out of concern for caregivers in India, I must note one problem: the membership in the larger caregiver forums is usually from outside India, and many of the queries and comments assume a very different culture and very different types of system and support. Discussions on end-of-life care, legal and financial issues, use of services, availability and regulation of helpers, all are based on a very different set up. That means many suggestions can be used only partially.

So what can I suggest caregivers in India who are looking for online support?

Firstly, online support groups as such are definitely worth considering. Online groups provide 24×7 availability of a forum to post. The sense of community helps. You may get empathetic responses and feel less isolated, and you may get some useful responses.

If you already know some other caregivers with whom you share some trust/ rapport, getting together and creating an informal online group is worth considering. Of course, expectations need to be limited, and such groups may not suit caregivers whose situation is very unusual and different from that of all the existing members. And members need to understand that such groups cannot be depended on for medical advice.

Also, please do look at existing dementia forums/ caregiver forums run by volunteers/ organizations/ groups of concerned persons. They will reduce your sense of isolation and give you some idea of the problems and solutions others use. Even when the exchanges in such forums don’t always suit your context, they could contain useful pointers. Also, look for online support groups set up for special situations, such as for specific types of dementia (Lewy Body, FTD).

A good approach is to join multiple groups, and understand which type of need each of them can meet. Use these groups depending on the fit, participating according to where you feel comfortable sharing your problems and also sharing your suggestions for the problems others face.

Here are a few things to keep in mind before participating in an online group.

Groups have different degrees of privacy, and even if a group is supposed to be private and if posts are kept private and confidential as per the technical platform used, ultimately the actual implementation depends on the other members, too. If you are posting something very personal, and are very particular that no one should be able to link your posts to you, consider groups where you can use a pseudonym and do not share details that could identify you.

Some groups (such as groups on Facebook) may be confidential, but you need to enroll with your real name. Members can click through your name from a post you made in the group and see your public profile. Keep that in mind if that seems to be a problem to you.

Also, in very large groups, keep in mind that your family members and friends (or their friends) may also join. Keep that in mind when posting details or rants.

Well, those are my thoughts and observations related to caregivers considering online support groups, and I would love to hear from you about what your own experiences have been on the effectiveness and usefulness of such groups, or your suggestions to caregivers on this.

If you are a concerned person trying to help persons living with dementia, you may be considering setting up an in-person group or an online group. I have created two draft documents that put together my thoughts on what setting up and running online groups and in-person groups involve. Both these documents are available online and also for download, and you can refer to them. I would appreciate any comments you have, so that I can refine the drafts and release improved versions. The page where you can view the documents or download them is here: Create dementia care support groups (includes download). The two individual documents are available for download at Setting up and maintaining an online caregiver forum to support dementia caregivers (PDF file) and In-person Dementia Support Group Meeting Guidance Document (PDF file).

I really would like to hear from you, either as comments below or as an email (check my contact page to know my email id).

If you like this post, please Share/ like this post using the buttons below.

You can also follow this blog by getting email notifications; click the “Follow me” option at the bottom of the right sidebar. Thank you!

Families, support, privacy, caregiving and chaos and misunderstandings in unprepared families

I am an only child who grew up in a nuclear family and spent most of my childhood in cities far away from relatives, I always had this “grass is greener when you have siblings and a large family” conviction which was further boosted by all the talk I heard about how families were always there for you, they were the people you could depend on, the safety net, and so on. I even remember how, when I was around eight or nine years old, someone asked me what I wanted, and I said I wanted a brother or sister, “kisee bhee size ka ho”, something everyone around me found very amusing (except my parents, perhaps).

Cut forward several years, I started having doubts about this “normal family” warm, fuzzy envelop of love, of “your family is always there for you, with you” sort of business. My experience net had widened. I saw families that remained rock-solid together regardless of tsunamis of setbacks. I also saw families where siblings retained a relaxed amiability across distances that let them connect emotionally even if months has passed by between conversations. But then there were families where sibling fights were bitter and beyond reconciliation. And there were the other families where, whilst there were no outright yelling-slanging match, the gaps were unbridgeable and smiles stiff and reserved for when outsiders were watching, and the normal distance of cities and busy schedules were a matter of relief. There was no universal standard of “family”.

And I wondered whether the implied concept of “normal, happy family” and lasting sibling affection was more a matter of wishful thinking. Perhaps people kept talking of it as a norm when it was actually more of an “ideal”. I wondered whether repeated statements of “this is our culture” and “normalcy” around “family-oriented society” made people feel defensive, guilty, or inadequate about their differences and conflicts with siblings.

Read the full post here

A difficult story to write: A caregiver’s tale

This post is about two women I read about in the newspapers, Sangeetha and Baby. The first time I read about them was in December 2010, while scanning newspapers for caregiver stories. I read about them again the same way, in February 2011. For the last few weeks, I’ve been trying to make myself write this post about them. My way of honoring them. Because writing is my way of doing things.

Here is what I read in December, the first installment of the story.

The story starts in a simple way: Baby, a poor, widowed woman wanted her daughter Sangeetha to get educated, and slogging for years as a laborer to earn money, often ignoring her pains and other health problems.  Daughter Sangeetha studied hard, completed a bachelor’s degree, and then did her post-graduate diploma in computer applications.

Let us pause for a moment to imagine this: Baby, lifting heavy loads of stone, working long hours, and her daughter, struggling to study. I think it would be reasonable to assume that Sangeetha would be a first learner in the family, and every achievement of hers becomes more significant given her circumstances. She must have shown courage and intelligence. Presumably she did not fritter away her energies in the sort of fun and games that most of her peers would be doing; her mother worked hard, and so did she. They shared a dream, that of Sangeetha being educated.

To go on with the facts of the story, as reported: Baby’s severe pains reached a state when they could not be neglected. MRIs were done. Investigations conducted. Baby had developed Parkinson’s. Her mix of problems soon included dementia. Sangeetha, her education complete, had been trying to earn money on the side while attending coaching classes so that she could get a government job. But with Baby now having fits and falling, Sangeetha had to shift her role and become a fulltime caregiver.

I remember thinking, as I read this, that O’Henry would be proud of how life imitates fiction; this was a real-life Gift of the Magi story. Instead of working to get the job and complete her mother’s dream, Sangeetha gave up the possibility of a job because she could not leave her mother alone for even ten minutes. As the round-the-clock caregiver, Sangeetha lived in a small thatched hut and cleaned and fed her mother and watched her worsen. There was no money, no food, no medicine, except the small amounts that came thanks to the charity of some people and organizations. There was no time to go out and earn anything. There was no energy.  There were only bucketfuls of soiled clothes and caregiving work that never ended, and Sangeetha did it without grumbling. Day after day, month after month, year after year.

“A gem,” is how a neighbour described Sangeetha.

Read the full post here

A common loneliness…

For the last few days, I’ve been recalling some of the challenges posed in caregiving because of my mother’s condition. These were places where her memory loss and confusion resulted in her saying and doing things that hurt her and people around her. They caused me repeated embarrassment and anger and frustration, they made me withdraw from people around me and effectively isolated me, and they made her fall ill and hurt herself. Most of the time, though I had begun to register that she was acting out of confusion (and not because she wanted to be mean), I had no effective way to reach out to her or to explain to others or generally make things better. There was an overall sense of helplessness and inevitability that I experienced.

I’d like to wrap up this part of my recollections by sharing her obvious sense of insecurity and isolation.

There were many incidents in those difficult years that showed how insecure my mother had started feeling. In addition to making me promise again and again that I would take care of her, she made it a point to complain to everyone about me, and when they talked tough to me, she’d tell me, “See, did you see what he said? You must do your duty properly.” Essentially, she was using these complaints to make sure I didn’t forget or neglect my duty. Earlier, I’d seen it as manipulation done out of dislike for me, but over time I realized this to be a twisted thinking of hers to get what she wanted.

She felt that if others were always telling me what my duty was, she would be safer.
Read the full post

Hurting herself without meaning to

One of the most worrisome part of the situation of my mother in those-mid-stage dementia days was how she would keep harming herself.

In the Delhi summer, with the sun shining at its hottest in a patch of the walkway in front of our apartment, my mother would dash out of the house and stand exactly at the spot where the sun lit up her scalp. (This was before I’d placed a lock on her door to prevent such outbound dashes from the apartment). Some time would pass before I checked her room and find her missing. When I would realize what had happened and rush out to fetch her back inside, she would sometimes agree easily, but need persuasion at other times. I would try explaining about heat strokes, but she would say she didn’t feel hot. “See, I don’t sweat,” she’d point out. To me her not sweating only meant the heat would hit her worse, and it did. She’d get fever, she’d shiver, she’d get incoherent.

In winter, the cold Delhi winter, she’d throw off her quilt and peel off her woollens and then sit on her bed, curled tight, till I spotted her. She would get upset if I put on the heater. Curled tight into a ball because she was cold, she would refuse to relax enough for me to slip her cardigan on. I’d have to use blankets, hot water bottles, gentle massaging of her body, to make her loosen up enough to wear her woolens back.
Read the full post

She doesn’t cook for me

I had started working from home before my mother’s dementia-related problems became prominent. We moved in with her after my father’s death, when none of us suspected that those tiny problems we saw could have a medical reason. She seemed normal enough, except for her growing balance problems. I would do the cooking because I wasn’t comfortable with her working in the kitchen because she could sway at any moment, and would grab whatever she saw. Sometimes one would find her on the floor, a chair fallen on top of her–ouch 😦

I handled all the cooking with some help from my husband. Most of the time I cooked food the way my mother had cooked for me, using the same spices, cutting the veggies in the same shape and size, making dishes as close to the ones she had cooked. I did this so that she was comfortable with the food and could eat well.  Except that now my mother wanted food the way her grandmother cooked for her…

Because I worked through the day, I would finish off cooking in the morning. Daal, veggies, roties, all would be placed in hotcases, so that anyone could eat whenever he/ she wanted without my having to interrupt my work. This was something my mother herself had done for years now–finishing off the cooking early to have the day free for whatever she wanted to do.

But my mother had changed now. Her standards of “proper homes” had become more traditional, reverting to her grandmother’s days. She began complaining at this early morning dispose-off-the-cooking method, and I had to start making the rotis fresh in the afternoon, as is common in North Indian houses, because, when she was a child, she used to eating fresh rotis. I tried to get my maid to come at noon for making roties, but didn’t manage.
Read the full post

Murderers, thieves, and an old woman amidst them

Fear that she’ll be cheated or attacked were one common thread my mother showed, often based on things totally ordinary, or on imagined events or projections.

I remember I was once doing my strength exercises and lifting a barbell with some effort (okay, a lot of effort). As I lowered it with obvious relief, I noticed my mother at the door of the room, watching me. “Yeh kya mujhe maarne ke liye practice kar rahi ho?” she asked me. (Are you practising this to be able to hit me?). I was totally nonplussed, and could not even mutter a “No.”
Read the full post

Beginning to understand the reality of “memory loss”

Here are a couple of incidents that made me register the fact that my mother was facing genuine problems that were totally disorienting her and contorting her perception of reality. That her abilities had deteriorated to a point where she was unable to understand things we all assumed to be simple.

One incident was during her evening walks. I had managed to get a maid who would take my mother for a walk every evening. After a few days of trying to take her down to walk the compound’s roads, and narrowly missing falling because my mother walked in too fast and too imbalanced a way, the venue of this evening exercise was moved to the relatively safe corridor with its even floor and grab rails.

One day, the maid told me that Mataji had asked whether it was morning or evening, and not believed the maid when she said evening. Sure enough, a few minutes later, my mother called me and asked me the same question. I was in a sort of fog of disbelief as I told her it was evening. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “How do you know?” she asked.

That was quite an unexpected problem.
Read the full post

Learning from our experiences…

Over the past few days, I  have forced myself to think about the far past of my mother’s situation, when there were hints I missed, and fears she hid by blustering through and raging, and the distance and the pain. It seems such a waste in this harsh light of hindsight; why am I forcing myself to look at it?

After all, it hurts to remember those things and write them out and expose them. So why?

The answer is simple: I may be at a safe place now, in relative peace, bridges repaired, connections forged, but there are so many others who face today problems similar to what I faced then…
Read the full post

For Those New to Caregiving

A few days ago, a friend asked me to jot down thoughts I’d like to share with a newbie caregiver–someone thrust into caregiving that could be intense or extended, but was not restricted to caregiving for a dementia patient.

Here it is; if it seems useful to you, share the link with others. And I’d love to receive comments …(ETA: The PDF version is available here.)

Tips For Those New to Caregiving

By Swapna Kishore

Fifteen years ago, my father collapsed while getting up from a chair. A few hours later, instead of editing a document I had to submit to a client, I was trying to figure out how to look after someone bed-ridden thanks to a hip fracture. I assumed then that the situation was temporary, but as days, weeks, and months went by, my life kept changing to accommodate caregiving–first for my father, who never quite recovered, and then for my mother, who has dementia.

My caregiving journey is dotted with successes and failures, days of fulfillment and days of frustration. I’ve been sharing my experiences through my blog and website, and in support group meetings.  Some days ago, a friend asked me to jot down suggestions for people newly thrust into the role of caregiving. Here is what I think…

Most of us have very little idea of the intensity involved in extended caregiving. We may have looked after someone with a fever, or spent a week or so supporting someone recovering from a surgery, but that is quite different from caring for a person suffering from a serious or disabling condition such as late-stage cancer, cerebral palsy, dementia, or organ failure. We may not have imagined ourselves (given our gender/ qualification/ skills/ good luck) as persons who may need to provide such care.
Read the full post

Ramblings on love, hate, and a life worth living

February has been a mixed month for my mother, the most painful part being when she went down with fever but could not tell us where the pain was. Being a dementia patient in an advanced stage, she cannot communicate her problems to us, which means we have to be detectives. Much investigation and deduction was attempted, without success, medication given to control the fever. Two days into the problem, she broke and swallowed a tooth–ouch! She broke another tooth again, the next day. Ergo, a tooth infection. Fever’s under control, and a dentist was requested to make a home visit to assess her dental status 🙂 A major project is now to be planned–a trip to the dentist to remove another tooth that is tethering on a breakdown, and to clean up the stuff left behind by the two not-so-neatly broken teeth. That she is fully bedridden makes the challenge more, well, challenging. Ah, well.

But what’s prompted me to write this blog is something quite unrelated, actually, a few unrelated things, that happened these last two weeks.

Firs, I’d like to share a memory dating around seven years ago. Seven years ago, I was still naive about dementia and how it affects people, still thinking increased memory loss was like losing ten keys a day instead of one. My mother was in her own denial mode, unwilling to admit to any memory loss. The world around her (as I can see in retrospect) bewildered her, and she was not going to tell anyone that. She was a fighter, she was. Often I saw her writing with a fierce concentration in a diary, and snap it close when I entered her room. One day, she left it open near her breakfast tray, and there it was, written with a red pen, written so angrily that the pen had torn through the paper. There were many broken sentences on the page, and I stopped short when I saw my name. She had written that she hated me, written it again and again and again, and written about others she hated, and at the end, there was: I hate hate hate the world.
Read the full post

Caregiving, identity, impermanence

As caregiving has occupied a chunk of my timeshare, mind-share, emotion-share, my sense of identity has become bound with this role. I find it affecting all my other roles, and it remains in my mind like a persistent buzz, even when I am not handling any related work.

For a while now, this has puzzled me.

First off, there is nothing unique about handling multiple roles. All of us juggle roles, and cope with it. Even a school-going boy balances between roles: student in class, boy playing cricket, participant in a painting competition, fond (or not so fond) son, polite son of colleague at his father’s office party, and so on. When older, the balance moves to balancing job roles (boss, subordinate, colleague), family (parent, child, sibling, spouse), participating in community activities, and so on.
Read the full post

Pacing for effective caregiving

One of the dilemmas I face is how to care without feeling burnout.

What my mother wants is that I sit near her all day, holding her hand. I cannot do it. I could do it for a day or two, maybe a week or two tops. But not month after month.  Not an year, two years, three. And burning out or getting resentful won’t help, because I’ll end up giving up just when her need for me goes up.
Read the full post

this month, a year ago

Last year, I blogged daily through the month of January, and I always felt I had a lot to share. This year, as I go through this a-blog-a-day month, I find myself in a very different frame of mind. More mellow, with less to say…

A few posts ago, I mentioned how much has changed in my mother’s state in the last year. As dramatic, as important, has been the shift in my perception and attitude. Last year, around this time – give or take a month or two – I was busy sorting out my approach to my mother’s challenging behaviors. She would have mood swings, she would say things that hurt, she would swing dramatically between sweet coöperation and gentle behavior, and angry, frustrated words and actions. Thinking and blogging and reading – these helped me explore what could be happening and how to handle it.
Read the full post