I am so confused.

I’ve been brooding for years and years. That’s what I have called my daily journal. Broede’s Broodings. I even wrote a newspaper column once. Yes, called Broede’s Broodings. And lately, I’ve been paging through some of the broodings. From 1999. I wasn’t so optimistic then. More of a pessimist. I hadn’t quite learned how to cope with dear Jeanne’s Alzheimer’s. I still had Jeanne at home. I was a 24/7 care-giver. Jeanne wouldn’t go into a nursing home until Nov. 17, 2003. Where she would reside for 38 months and one day. Before she finally died on Jan. 18, 2007. By then, I had learned to be a decent care-giver. I learned to accept Alzheimer’s. I learned to love Jeanne. Fully. Unconditionally.

Anyway, here’s what I wrote in my broodings on the last day of 1999. New Year’s Eve.

Maybe I am too close to Jeanne to be a good care-giver. When I see Jeanne’s decline to Alzheimer’s, it takes a heavy emotional toll. And it’s almost as if for me to survive, I have to distance myself from Jeanne. And so far I haven’t been able to do that. So my role as primary care-giver is gut-wrenching. And little wonder that I have indigestion. And maybe an ulcer, or worse.

Every time Jeanne does something “dumb,” or has a memory lapse, I magnify the act in my mind. Because I am so close to Jeanne. I so much want Jeanne to get better, or at least to stabilize and lose no more ground to this damn disease.

I magnify little things, such as Jeanne’s inability to learn how to wear a headband without messing up her hair-do. And no matter how many times I go over the procedure with Jeanne, she doesn’t learn. She gets it wrong almost every time. And that so frustrates me. Because I want to think that maybe Jeanne is getting better. That maybe the medications she’s on are working wonders. But so far, the medications don’t seem to be doing any good.

Now, if I were the care-giver for an Alzheimer’s patient I really didn’t know so personally, it would be a 10 times easier task than caring for Jeanne. And that’s because I would be able to step back and not be so emotionally involved. If somebody I didn’t know put on a headband in the wrong way, I’d react matter-of-factly. I’d readjust the headband. Or I might just let it be. Because it really doesn’t matter. But when Jeanne is involved, it matters. Because I am emotionally involved with Jeanne.

And hard as it may seem, I may have to try to become less emotionally involved. To protect Jeanne. And to protect myself. Otherwise, I could make myself physically ill or drive myself bonkers. And that would do Jeanne no good. I have to learn to do what’s best for Jeanne.

I’m thinking that if we got into a support group, I should suggest that one of the other spouses occasionally gives me a respite. And becomes Jeanne’s care-giver for a day. I, in turn, would agree to become the care-giver of that spouse’s Alzheimer patient.

Odd as it may seem, I might be much kinder to the patient to which I am not emotionally involved. It would take a far less toll on me, emotionally. If I could distance myself emotionally from Jeanne, I would be kinder to her. And I suppose, kinder to myself. I am so confused. –Jim Broede