it’s time to bring the debate to a broader audience.

okay. here’s the whole deal: my father in law’s PSA (prostate specific antigen) level is elevated. not alarmingly elevated (intermediate), but elevated nonetheless. his doctor suggested a biopsy, just to be on the safe side. the possible risks after the procedure were explained to him, and he was told that it is highly recommended that he gets the biopsy done as soon as he can, even if his prostate, upon examination is not enlarged.

the possibility of bleeding and informations from the internet scared the living daylights out of him. he is more likely going to say no to the biopsy. his wife’s and children’s opinions, and the stories from their fellow seniors (he is in his mid 70s) have a lot of weight in his decision making. they said the risk is so small, that it will be worse for him to create an imbalance in his system by having the procedure done, and it is better just to leave the mighty prostate alone. don’t even touch the thing, you know. leave it alone in peace.

the other strong contender in the list of suggestions is to take herbal based medicines proven to lower PSA levels because “most of the times, doctors just suggest invasive procedures without trying natural ways to solve the elevated levels first. they never think outside the box, before subjecting the human body to foreign invasion”, as pointed out by those who didn’t have any biopsy and are still alive today. and also by my husband, who happened to lean towards natural way of handling anything, who also happened to be his son.

anyway, although my opinion doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, i was still asked to chime in. i told them i have taken care of a lot of patients post biopsy, and so far, i have not seen somebody bleed. for the most part, when the biospy turned out to be negative, it gave the patient that much needed relief. if it turned out to be positive and treatable, it is a better thing. if it turns out to be beyond treatment, at least, the patient is psyched to prepare. my point is: the earlier, the better.

i believe in mind body connection and totally agree that he should not do it if he is scared. thing is, i think, the only reason why he is afraid is that he lacks knowledge about the whole thing. i suggested he gather more information. from his doctor, from other doctors, from reading materials, from people who already went through the same thing, those who did the biopsy, and those who didn’t, listen to both sides. then, if he has all the informations he needs and he still does not want to do it, he has every right to make that decision, and it should be respected.

let’s hear it from you guys. what do you think about this whole elevated-PSA-level-to-biopsy-or-not-to-biopsy-issue?

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.

everytime i saw her, she reminded of the fact that she used to be an OR nurse, in hospital X, night shift, for a verrrrry long time. she kept repeating how she loved every minute of it.

that was the only thing that she talked about with consistency. not her husband, who, one minute was 45 years old, alive, and at home, then the next minute, was gone, old, and she didn’t know. not her kids, who, one minute were four, then three, then she didn’t know. not the place where she lived, which one minute was in A, then in B, then she didn’t know.

just that she used to be an OR nurse, in hosptal X, night shift, for a verrry  long time, and that she loved every minute of it. i hav ememorized the line so well, that i would quietly recite it with her once she started that whole night litany of “did i mention i used to be a nurse, in hosp…

i will never wish it on anyone, and i am not wishing to have alzheimer’s in my geriatric years, but i’m just curious. will my love for my job will stick to my memory more than my love for anything else, if, and when that dreadful bouts of dementia come?

i was swimming topless.
topless, in an infinity pool in a vacation house in mexico that apparently, one of my very close friends owns.

the moment i realized i was topless, i knew right away that i was dreaming. if i didn’t realize it that early, having a friend who owns a vacation house with an infinity pool, in mexico, will surely wake me up.

anyway, when we all decided to call it a day, while drying up, i had that eerie feeling about my wallet. when i opened it, i found out that all my cards were missing. licenses, credit cards, and about 20 dollars cash. as if overcome by guilt, the person who stole from my wallet left my wedding and family picture. oh. how thoughtful of him/her.

when it was getting too stressful calling people about the missing cards, i willed myself to wake up. and i did.

_________________

one of the nurses at work lost a lot of weight. the kind that looked scary. when people asked me if i knew why, i was surprised why i know. i told them he has cancer and have been undergoing chemotherapy for a while now.

everybody breathed a sigh of sympathy. i was curious why they showed me the same look of feeling sorry, but i shrugged it off as something weird, but no big deal.

after work, i was surprised that he was waiting for me at the door. when he said “let’s go”, although puzzled, i silently followed.

we were alone inside the elevator and he put his arm around me. that shocked me to the point of being speechless. but then it became even weirder.

he started being really intimate. physically. really intimate. in the elevator!

it was getting too uncomfortable and icky, i willed myself to wake up. and i  did.

__________________

everybody can do this, right? realize in a dream that they are dreaming and just will themselves to wake up? i wish i can claim this as my special talent, but i know better. dare to share your own experiences with weird dreams and how you willed yourself to wake up?

also, it would be interesting to hear the dream interpreters’ take on my crazy little rendezvous with my unusual self in my unusual dreams this past couple of days.

please don’t tell me i have repressed sexual fantasies about my coworker and have unconscious desire to swim in an infinity pool owned by a mexican lover. please. 

come on,
you already know i will deny it.
you don’t?
well, for the record,
i will deny it.