My unheeded advice.

I have a friend. An Alzheimer’s care-giver. To her father. And she’s highly stressed. While trying to cope. Valiantly. With all that responsibility. She goes on frequent guilt trips. Flagellating herself. For not doing enough. This has become her whole life. Caring. Caring. Caring far too much. Of course, I encourage her to do less. To take better care of herself. And to leave more of the care-giving to others. To friends. To other family members. To professionals. Problem is. When she has time off. She dwells on what she thinks she should be doing. Taking better care of dad. Because others don’t do it as well as she. Often, she’s seething. In anger. At the professionals. At the nursing home. For forgetting to put in dad’s hearing aids.  Other things, too. She’s driving herself into mental and emotional exhaustion. Into depression. I tell her. She can do only so much. Dad and virtually everyone with Alzheimer’s won’t get perfect care. Always. It could be better care. One can only peck away. At making things better. For dad. And a good start in the right direction would be to take better care of herself. To find daily diversions.  Away from care-giving. Taking her dog for a walk, for instance.  Chatting with a friend about the positive aspects of life. Getting away for the weekend.  Dining out with her husband. Going to a play, concert or movie. Going  to a spa for a massage. And seeing a doctor. Her last physical was 10 years ago. I’m not so sure that she’s gonna  heed my advice. But I give it anyway.  Like it or not. –Jim Broede