Everyday Life Continues

September 10, 2022

At Labor Day we had a lovely birthday weekend for Ren. The adult children were all here, as were those grandchildren who are not in university yet. (The others had visited earlier in August, before they left—except for a granddaughter studying in Switzerland.) Some of the family who had not seen him recently, were shocked by how ill Ren looks. However, he enjoyed seeing everyone and was able to stay up and awake during their visit. It was a treat for both of us.

We had also had dinner out with two sets of friends in August. In mid-August we had a cheerful dinner with a coworker of mine who is married to a jeep/camping/hunting buddy of Ren's. We went to The Smokehouse, a favorite of Ren's. He couldn't eat much but did drink his usual Manhattan. On his actual birthday, August 31, we met friends of many years at his favorite BBQ restaurant. I had to drop him off at the door where he waited with a walking stick until I had parked the car. He walks slowly now, but was able to make it inside without a rest. Although Ren couldn't eat much, he did order dessert. When it arrived, we all sang Happy Birthday with a candle in his ice cream. He did enjoy that.

All of us were well aware it would be his last birthday.

I worry about Ren's alcohol consumption. His cancer has spread to his liver. The doctor said, besides the original tumors, he had noted there are more that are “differentiated.” Those are more aggressive. So what does this mean for Ren’s overall day-to-day life, I wonder? He not only continues to drink, but he has increased his alcohol intake from one or two drinks a week, to almost daily. He also had me joining him, until I realized sometimes drinking made me feel ill. I found the courage not to feel guilty about not joining him. So now I have a light gin and tonic with him once in a while at home and a glass of wine if drinking while we’re dining out. Since I drive us everywhere, I have to make sure, that I am stone cold sober when I leave the restaurant. So usually my wine still has a couple of ounces left in the glass when we leave. Better to waste it than to drive wasted!

But I wonder if the increased alcohol consumption is contributing to Ren’s stomach upsets and perhaps his insomnia. If his liver is already compromised with tumors, how is it handling filtering the alcohol? Is this causing the increase in nausea and bowel problems? Isn’t it better to be sober than ill? He enjoys a drink or two, and I don’t begrudge him that, but I don’t want him to suffer needlessly either. But I can only advise and cannot control him. Nor do I want to!

 It is hard to know when to help and when to let him struggle to manage by himself. For instance: when he is trying to get up out of a restaurant booth, he feels badly when he cannot do it by himself. I stand by ready to help, but choosing to know when to step in and when to hold back is tricky. Sometimes he snaps at me when I ask him if he needs help, especially when the answer is yes. He is just angry with himself and his helplessness. I know that. And I try not to let his bad temper get to me. It does remind me of some reactions I saw from his mother though, and that triggers big time annoyance on my part which I have to choke back.  

It is awfully hard to watch my dear husband hang his head as he sits in his chair at home; or watch him walk with back bent, head down, gingerly making his way across the room. Or sit up in his chair with his eyes closed for minutes at a time--not sleeping, just "thinking". He wants to fight this thing, but he often seems wearied with the fight.

 

Why Angry?

It occurs to me there is a connection between those Americans who are angry and the blog piece I wrote about losing control of one's life to Alzheimer’s.

Perhaps those Americans who protest vaccines and masks are also angry about losing control. Why do they think that way? Because nothing is the way it used to be. The rules about the world are changing and change is challenging. Writing from earthquake country, I know that when the very ground shifts beneath you, a kind of panic sets in. Your anchoring frame of reference is gone and you feel adrift. As in Alzheimer’s, what you thought of as real and solid and true, isn’t any more. It is logical to feel anger at whomever you can blame. In a real earthquake we can only shake our hand at the gods, or God, or Mother Nature. But when it comes to human-created environments, it’s natural to seek the people or organizations responsible for taking away your sense of stability.

It is natural to protect our tribe and blame Outsiders for our troubles.  

When jobs are lost, or a pandemic strikes, we look for someone to blame, the Boss, the Company, Automation, Immigrants, Politicians (of any stripe), Racism, China. Someone must be held accountable for the loss, for the upheaval, for the instability. It is much easier to blame those who are not like us, those whose faces don’t resemble our family, our tribe. 

Even if they look like members of our tribe, those who don’t think like us can also be looked down on as Outsiders. If we start excluding those who don’t think like us, act like us, talk like us, walk like us, run like us, eat like us, play like us . . . the circle of our lives closes in so that we narrow our own choices, constrain our own freedoms, dig our own graves.

What is missing is the recognition that underneath skin color, social manners, political/religious beliefs, food preferences, we are all humans in the same “tribe”. If sad, we cry. If happy, we smile. If hungry, we eat. If thirsty, we drink. If cut, we all bleed red blood.

So what do we do with the frustration, the anger at the changes around us? How do we regain a feeling of control over our lives? How can we do that without endangering our fellow human beings?