Insecure

Last night as I was helping Dad get ready for bed, I tried to step out of the action and watch the scene from a distance. I realized that I was barking orders, more like a drill sergeant than a loving caregiver. “Pick up your foot…now step over here…” On the other hand, the home health assistant who comes three days a week has a lovely, lilting, Jamaican accent and a soft, soothing tone.

I confessed to Dad as I was helping him that I am still learning how to help him. I asked him to be patient and to tell me if I do something wrong. He thought about that a minute, and asked, “Where do you learn this? Is this something your parents teach you?”

“Yes,” I said, “just like you and Mom are teaching me now.” But, ever since that conversation, I’ve been wondering if I’m doing them a huge disservice by attempting to do things that the home health aid went to school for years to learn and has practiced over many years on the job.

And I’m not the only one who is insecure. I know Mom is nervous about leaving Dad in my care. And Dad may have a legitimate reason for his paranoia!

Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment with someone who can explain the ins and outs of Medicare and secondary insurance. I’ll see about adding some nursing care when Mom gets out of the hospital, and I’ll find out when/how we can claim some of Dad’s care on insurance.

Today Mom had a pulmonary function test and was cleared for her surgery.

Sue