The Elder Process

Nobody wants to talk about old people, except other old people.  And who wants to listen to old people but other old people.  The process of becoming an old person, how it happens to you, is supposed to be a gradual, slow transformation -- but no, it’s not.  It can happen in a day or an instant.  Maybe a week, I don’t know I’m 70.
Monica went into the hospital a few weeks ago, the fourth hospitalization in two months time. She’s been plagued with Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus much of her adult life and it has suddenly taken over her life.  The past few years have been bout after bout of hospitalizations, often from an infection from a Rheumatoid joint that became so inflamed and painful, sores erupted and became infected. And Monica is a youngster, almost 7 years my junior.

I've generally enjoyed good health.  In recent months I've found my strength weakening quickly.  Things I used to be able to do and then continue on for the rest of the day doing more jobs and errands, now totally wipe me out.  One doctor I see suggested it's the stress of becoming a full-time caregiver to the person I've shared a lifetime with, is more than likely my kryptonite. There have been these small lapses of memory; not the kind you experience as a younger person, every day lost keys, or forget why you went to the living room, but more extensive and scary than ever before. 

My balance is off as well.  I find myself holding on to railings, on the support railings in the hallways of stores and hospitals to keep my balance.  My primary care physician calls it "teetering" or "tippiling"    and generally just accepted as another sign of advancing age.
I'm sitting next to Monica as I type this waiting to see if she'll come around and talk to me for a while.  She's been sleeping way too much and I understand from the visiting doctors who parade in and out of here daily, that it's her body fighting the infection and it has taken a toll on her strength.  I may know that somewhere inside my brain but I know Monica and she's a strong woman. 

Much stronger than this so I keep waiting for some conversation.  I was feeding her lunch earlier, called "full liquid" and in order to feed her, I have to keep waking her which just aggravates her and I can see it in her eyes and I hate myself for having to do it.

She's been in five hospital rooms this time around:  The ER, Medical ICU, a 4th-floor room considered to be a regular hospital care room, then two rooms on the 7th floor, the floor for cardiac patients, because of roof construction.  They're adding another floor and we're right underneath all the construction, but she hears very little.  Softly snoring, an IV dripping one of several antibiotics, pain meds, a host of liquids she should be ingesting regularly but can't seem to stay with it long enough to work up any type of appetite, I'm in prayer by her side hoping for a miracle.

I spend 8 to 10 hours a day in here and as most of us know the waiting can be almost as painful and uncomfortable as the patient experiences.  And the worst part is that I know if roles were reversed she'd be here 24 hours a day.  Camped out, change of clothes, toothbrush, wash rag, and soap all lined up in the bathroom.  She's so much stronger than I am and always has been.🙏