For caregivers of memory-impaired loved ones and those with TBI, this is probably an almost daily recitation.
A caregiver’s Saturday morning
“Nobody warns you about the mornings. As a memory care and TBI caregiver, I’ve learned that how the day begins sets the tone for everything that follows. My caregiver morning routine on this Saturday isn’t glamorous, it involves a pre-dawn bike ride, a protein smoothie thick enough to eat with a spoon, and an elaborate singing performance for an audience of one very reluctant sleeping bear. But it works. And on the hard days, working is everything.”
A Caregiver Morning Routine
“Back from my early Saturday morning ride — the anchor of my caregiver morning routine — I put whey protein, frozen berries, oat milk, some cocoa, and stevia in the blender, then down the hatch. Actually, it’s so thick that I spoon it down. Then I straighten up the kitchen, get the clothes out of the dryer, fold them, and take them to the master bedroom — where Deb is buried deep in the covers, like a hibernating sleeping bear.”
I’ve got an hour before I need to get her up. Last night was very light sleep, and at 5 AM I just rested in the other bedroom, anticipating my morning ride. One needs small things to look forward to in this line of work.
I’ve been rereading Orwell’s 1984 on audiobook. I went to bed a little before 11:30, and the last part I remember is Winston trying to surreptitiously connect with Julia, a co-worker in the Ministry of Fiction. Most of the night was a state of semi-consciousness; never reaching that so-necessary deep sleep that refreshes the brain.
So I go back to bed and sleep until 11:30 AM. Time to wake Deb.
The following ritual is very common in our place. I make up lyrics to the melody of a song. This morning it is “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” using a pet name I coined for Deb: Tootles the Turtle — or just Tootle Lu. The lyrics are about how wonderful it is to rise and shine on a beautiful Saturday morning, and go something like this:
“Tootles, it’s time to get up now. The coffee is calling you.”
“The sky is bright, the curtains are open, and the birds are all calling you…”
I now have my hands on the covers. The response — pretty standard — from the sleeping mama bear is:
“I don’t want to.”
“Oh, what a surprise!” I reply dryly…. And then I sing another verse:
“Tootles the turtle, you must get up. Or I will start getting pretty rough… with you.
So here is your nice little robe, with your slippers here on the floor. Sooo, let’s go!” She has a half smile on from the earlier lyrics.
“Shut up, and get outta here!” She stammers rather sheepishly. “Absolutely not,” I tell her, half-laughing… not going to happen.” I stand over her with my hand on her shoulder, still humming the melody, as she tries to stay snuggled in her cave. And then…
“I have to pee.” she states so matter of factly.
Ahh, I think to myself. Perfect. I’ve won. And in the 1st round! ” I’ve been through some sparring sessions that have gone into the late rounds in this “Please Get Up” game.
“Okay, good — here, let’s get your robe on and your little princess slippers.” I calmly tell her. I’ll get your coffee on. She sits up, puts on the robe, then slides her size 5.5 feet into her pink slippers with hearts on top.
I’m smiling. I’m feeling pretty chipper. Small victories, right? That’s the currency of this life, it’s not the grand gestures, but the pink slippers, the reluctant laugh, and her being happy with the coffee, and the muffins that were given to me by a class member of my Fit For Life workout at the YMCA across the street. There is also the kindness of others who listen to my stories and understand because they also were once caregivers to a loved one.
This is why I ride before the house wakes up. Not only to escape, but to come back stronger. The miles keep me capable. The rhythm keeps me sane. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and many times over these 18 years, the work has emptied me out and left me lying on the canvas of my life.
But….Here I am. I also know , there are literally millions of caregivers like me who challenges are greater than mine. To you, you are not alone.
Gotta be B positive; like my blood type.
Staying capable. Rising strong.
It’s not just a motto. It’s a morning practice. Every ride, every sunrise, every stubborn sleeping bear coaxed out of her covers, it all counts.