who decides who gets sick?

when we vowed “in sickness and in health”, we both said the words. after thirty one years of marriage, i got the “in health” part of the bargain, and he got the “in sickness” share. i used to be unaware. which is more difficult? to feel helpless and dependent, or to be the healthy one, expected and assigned to be the caregiver?

caregiver.

the word almost annoys me now. like “care” is something tangible and straightforward, something that is just so easy to give.

caregiving.

like they want to make it sound noble so the one being described will feel good about himself. after all, there is so much more you can give other than care, but you decided to give care. you must be an angel. or a saint.

i am neither.

three years of giving has sucked my bones and my spirit dry. i am tired. although i never admit it to other people, and they never admit it to me, i assume they know that it is no picnic. my husband has been so dependent on me, i do not know myself anymore. i am now referred to as his “very patient, caring wife”. people rave about how lucky he is for having somebody so consistent, and gush at how blessed he is for marrying somebody true to her wedding vows.

i often reply with a smile. i’m sure you can call it that, but what it really is, is a pursed lip that is not guilt free. i wonder what will people say if they find out what i really feel about the whole caregiving thing most of the times. i wonder what they will think if i tell them i am just so sick of it. so sick of it that i seriously wish i was the one receiving the care. most of the times.

let’s not even start with the kids, because it gets so depressing. if you ask me, they really disappoint in the caring department. it would have been easier if they at least realized that their mother is also a human being who is incapable of loving every single second of every single minute. i mean, how difficult is it to call and say “mom, i feel so bad that i can’t help you take care of dad, but i am really swamped”. that’s not asking too much, right? where did they get the idea that i am this emotionless robot who never feels anything? granted it is irrelevant that i feel like there must be more than caregiving for a 52 year old woman, but still.

they act like they don’t know what’s going on. or, at the very least, they act like i’m a superwoman who never gets tired and doesn’t deserve a time for myself. like i was born to do this, and i was just fulfilling my destiny. that it is just natural for me to give myself up completely and sit beside their father without asking anything in return.

i wonder what they are thinking right now, if it even occurred to them. i hate to call them for the conference with the doctor tomorrow, but i just do not have the strength to deal with this anymore. it is hard enough that they know their dad made it clear he wants everything done when the time comes, but it is harder to confess i just wish he didn’t have that stubborness to live. it almost makes me feel like he wants to test me. like caring for him till i breathe my last is the only proof of my undying love.  

i don’t think i have it in me to keep on proving my love. if it isn’t enough that i hold his hand, clean him up, feed him, take him to every doctor’s appointment, stay with him in the hospital all those times, and still keep on giving more even when he demanded beyond more. losing myself in the process, i don’t know what else is there to prove, what else is left to give. he was my life then, he is my life now. literally.

to be honest, if the situation was reversed, i think i will never subject him to this kind of sacrifice. i will not demand that from him. i will not ask or imply that i deserve to ask him to forget about his own life and focus on my own like there is nothing more important than my comfort. maybe i don’t have that audacity. maybe i have my insecurities, but somehow, i feel secured in his love. his lifetime commitment to care for a worthless spouse is not a welcome idea for me.

even with the hissing of the breathing tubes and the beeping of the monitors, with him lying in that nasty hospital bed looking lifeless and worn out, i still see his determined wish to fight and live. to keep hanging on to dear life like it was still worth it. i never had the nerves to question him when he was still able to make that decision. afraid i’d hurt him by making it sound like i wanted him dead, i told him that’s what i wanted for him too. that it was just reasonable for him to be brave and keep on hoping. 

or maybe i wasn’t lying. maybe i sincerely felt that way three years ago. maybe i was that enthusiastic, and i knew he will recover and we will eventually continue our joyous journey. but three years have gone by. three spiralling down years of going to worst from worse. i can’t believe i keep saying “three years” like it is a life sentence, but who am i kidding? that’s exactly how i feel about it most of the times. in the past three years, i was only separated from him for four days. 

four short days away from him that proved to be more emotionally draining than being in his presence. i was supposed to relax with a group of friends. some relieved me of my responsibilities, some joined me on a well deserved mini vacation. instead of relaxing, i spent the hours thinking about him, about him looking for me every hour, and feeling ridiculously guilty about leaving him. i obssessed over the fact that he could die any minute, and i was away, being such a selfish brat, for even thinking of having a break.

i am too tired, and i am too tired to lie.

i just wish everything will be over. sooner. even though that’s not his wish.

i feel terrible saying that. i am evil and i know it. i sugarcoat it in front of family and friends, because that’s what they expect from me. but if they can see through me, i’m sure they will be disgusted with the thoughts i keep, the ones that stay unspoken.

if there really is a hell, i am sure i am going there for embracing such hateful, dreadful thoughts about my husband’s early passing. the husband i promised to love in sickness and in health, till death do us part.

i don’t even know what i feel about inwardly breaking that promise anymore. i am just so tired of pretending, i can’t keep on lying. i just want to rest. i just want him to rest.

i’m not sure what i’ll do when he’s gone. i might lose my mind thinking i caused his death by wishing it. i might continue losing myself, not knowing who i am aside from being his caregiver. i might give up and just end it all. out of guilt, out of worthlessness, out of extreme loneliness.

because the truth is, at the end of the day, the one we chose to love is actually the only one we have. and losing them is losing ourselves. that’s probably where the promise came from. “till death do us part…”, although in the real sense, you never part.

but i don’t even know what i feel about that promise anymore. am i breaking it? or keeping it? how?

i don’t know if talking about all those nights when i begged God to give him back his health will even be worth it. maybe, i will never remember those times. maybe i will be  so overwhelmed by this negative feeling of selfishness that i don’t deserve to be reminded about how i truly loved and still love this man more than life itself. i feel miserable for wishing his early death, even for a moment. and i don’t know if i’ll ever get over that. just one of the million things i don’t know anymore.

i’m a caregiver, i know that. but if i have nothing more to give, how am i going to continue to care?

i don’t know. and maybe, i don’t care. anymore.