Attending the sick

I didn't want to begin this blog in the sick room, but in fact, it is attending my very, very sick mother that is giving me the opportunity to do this—and not much else. It's one thing I can do for myself to make use of the snippets of time that lie between hall walks, mealtime pep talks, bathroom breaks, sympathetic listening, refilling the water glass, getting the toothbrush, holding the emesis basin, handing out tissues, hounding doctors, prying information out of nurses, making decisions, reporting to the family, and worrying.

I hate to acknowledge that I am a worrier. It seems so fruitless and pessimistic. I spend my professional life looking far into the past and my personal life stewing about the future. In these pursuits, I am about equally prescient. When my kids would come home a lot later than I expected them, I always imagined them lying in a ditch with a smashed car on top of them. When he did end up under a smashed car, I worried about permanent scarring and organ failure. It all worked out; if anything, the scar adds character. When they started dating, I worried that they would marry the first person who struck their adolescent fancy. When she did, he turned out to be perfect. When they chose college majors, I worried about their happiness in their career path. And when the first job didn't work out, she found a fabulous alternative that has been ever so much better in every possible way. Have I learned my lesson? Not really, but at least I can talk (somewhat) rationally to myself about it.

Despite my worrying, I have learned something about attending to the sick (and I have spent a fair amount of time attending very sick people, some in their last illness). Every person, no matter how sick, still has some health, and that is what I look for. If you can see past the ugliness of the sickness, you can find something attractive, positive, flourishing. It helps me as well as the sick person to relate to their health while attending their sickness. And while I might worry about what the future might hold, I can still be useful in the present.

As a worrier, I tend to take on the problems of other people, feeling that I have a responsibility to fix them. I can get a little crazy about this, actually. I should remember that just as my body cannot fight another person's disease, I cannot absorb or even mitigate the pain of another person's life. I suppose I can't do much more than hand out tissues, fill the water glass, get the toothbrush, hold the emesis basin, give pep talks, listen, and whatever other small thing occurs to me in the moment. The problems remain unsolved, and they continue to belong to someone else, not me.

So I worry that Mom will suffer needlessly, that this healing process will not progress, that she will not be able to return to the independent life that she cherishes, that she does not have the support system that she needs, that she will feel abandoned when I go back to my regular life. And yet, the future will unfold as it will, and it will be decided one day and one decision at a time. All I can do is make the very best decisions that I can, using the knowledge I have, in the moment that I have to make them.