Frustration of a carer

 It can be really furstrating being a carer sometimes. Lockdown doesn't help, for we all are stressed, but I don't think the public at large understand some of the little difficulties that, over time, make life difficult for a carer.

Viv had hydrocephalus for an extended period of time. This, according to the experts, is likely to lead to a 'permanent cognitive deficit'; in layman's terms, it means she has suffered some brain damage.

It presents itself as short term memory difficulties; she forgets a discussion that we had earlier, or puts something in a 'safe place', then forgets where that is. It also means that she struggles to follow complex conversations: when we have a phone call with a doctor, for instance, or with a relative, I need to be involved, and run the conversation at our end of the phone.

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This may not sound particularly difficult to live with, it's not like having to be bum-wiping every three hours, but it's not that simple. We have to write a lot of things down - what we are going to have to eat each day, for example - and spur-of-the-moment conversation becomes difficult.

I find that difficult to do all of the time. For example, today we were at the local shop, looking at the newspaper headlines: all doom and gloom. One, The Daily Telegraph, stood out: it's lead story was about a member of the military general staff, who has warned that the Covid world could lead to the same mistakes as made in the 1930s. It's a topic I have been thinking, and talking, about for some time: the authoritarianism, the appeasement, the large sector of government admiring the acheivements of a totalitarian government, the populace being reported as generally approving of the government's policies. 

Quite naturally I was excited to see this point on the front page of a national daily. I nudged Viv excitedly: 'Look, look', I exclaimed. But Viv hadn't been following my rapid verbal flick through the headlines; she started to look around, not sure what I was talking about. I was focussing on the headlines, and continued to nudge her; she became more and more worried wondering what on earth I was talking about. I was on her right, she could even see wher I was looking (she is more or less blind in her right eye).

My failure to communicate effectively made her upset. Her failure to understand what I was talking about upset me. We had a silent walk home.

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This sort of incident happens frequently - perhaps two or three times a week. Viv's condition has improved over the last year, and it might be possible for me to spend some time away from her, especially if someone came to stay to keep her company and make sure she's ok. Such an opportunity would provide a beathing space, a chance for me to think through my throughts. 

Lockdown has pretty much kyboshed that idea.

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As if to prove the point, I was interrupted while writing the above by much shouting coming from Viv's office. It turned out she had been trying to use a laminator, something she would have done regularly before she was ill. She'd tried to laminate a small slip of paper - her shunt card - but had not aligned it to the crease in the lamination sheet. The laminator jammed.

I had to gather screwdrivers to remove the bottom of the device to release the now scrunched laminated document, amid much frustration.

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I'm beginning to understand how some people in China have been driven to the point of suicide by the tensions of lockdown.