A 3 Year Old Mind In A 85 Year Old Body!
I'm shaking. I'm tired. I don't have the energy to think. I'm truly a gifted writer; because, this is all I have the energy to do. My life is slipping away. I don't even have the time or energy to go get my hair professionally cut. I do that about once a year. I can't cut the back by myself. My neck is so stiff. I wish I could go get a professional message. I'd spend my savings so I could tilt my head to the left or right without pain. I have a severe sinus headache. I keep on taking pills, though it doesn't last long enough. I wish I could just sleep my life away and NEVER wake up.
I suppose your wondering what does this have to do with MSA? Well when you care for someone with MSA this is what its like. You suffer so they don't feel institutionalized. My life is over. Mentally and Physically I'm done. I exist just to care for him. As you may have read in my other story, he won't go to assisted living or have an aide come to his home to help. So its all up to me. Today I had to lift him off the floor by myself. He weighs 175 lbs. Oh, the pain in my back and fatigue I felt while I was in the middle was beyond excruciating. After I finally got him to standing I had to cry for 15 minutes due to the mental and physical stress. Of course he doesn't respond. He acts like its any other day. Get me my pills, he says. Make my protein drink. Get my slippers. Do this, do that. I'm not a person, I'm a slave. I guess this is the price of being a daughter.
He complains that I can't lift him better. Pull me this way... no no that hurts. Great. I'm using all my physical strength and because I can't dead weight him I'm insufficient. Fabulous. I told him well if I had it my way I'd have the strength of Hercules. The good looks of Sandra Bullock. The thiness of my 14yr old cousin, AND THE MONEY OF OPRAH. Heck I'd be willing to work 14-20 hour days to make THAT SALARY. I wouldn't be fond of becoming famous, I guess I'd have to give up something. If I had her money then I could hire someone to be MY PERSONAL AIDE. Which in turn would help me care for him. He just stares at me like I never said anything.
So here I am again, sitting at the computer, feeding my EPA, feeling guilty about not doing something more productive with my life, not enjoying the 86 degree weather outside my window. I guess its better than committing suicide.