There are a lot of things that go into being a caregiver;
some you know (and are prepared for) and there are other things you learn as
you go.
I’ve found a lot of support these past two years from
Alz.org, chat rooms and support group meetings but one thing that surprised me
about this experience that seems to be overlooked and never really talked about
(at least not to me) is the tendency for the caregiver to get FAT.
I look around at a lot of the caregivers that I’ve met and I
see a lot of lard asses-mine especially. As Whoopi Goldberg quipped, “Once I
thought someone was sneaking up behind me and when I turned to look I realized
it was my own ass.”
I bring this up not to say that this happens all the time to
everyone in my situation. No, there are a lot of caregivers who have been able
to balance the enormity of their new roles without becoming enormous
themselves.
But it did get me to thinking about the connection between
the stress we’re under and obesity.
We all know that obesity is rampant in our society; poor
diets and lack of exercise being two (obvious) reasons but stress has been
linked as a contributing factor as well. For me, and I’m only talking about my
own tonnage here, I found that there was so much to do in the beginning and so
much change occurring that once I had my routines set up for my loved one and I
had a chance to catch my breathe and focus on myself what I saw surprised me.
How did this happen and when did I let myself go?
I began to wonder, like the “freshman fifteen” that some
young people gain during there first year of college; due to the change in
environment, the stress and the anxiety of being on their own for the first
time, is there a similar correlation for caregivers as we transition into a new
environment, as well as the stress and anxiety of “Not” being on our own for
the first time as well?
If freshman can be forgiven for their “fifteen”, is it
possible for me to get a little understanding for my “Alzheimer’s eight” or the
“Dementia dozen”?
Believe me, I take full responsibility for my rotund-ti-ty, as my role as caregiver has expanded so has
my waistline. And while I never
had Paul Ryan’s abs (and thankfully I never had his views on restricting women's
reproductive rights either) I would like to see my feet again some day.
It’s nobody’s fault but my own and intellectually I know
what needs to be done to return to my former svelte self-eat less and exercise.
But, that’s easier said than done when you’ve stressed, often lonely and lack
the motivation to give yourself the time and energy you’ve poured into your
charge.
It’s not that I’ve been “so” selfless, I’ve just been too
tired to care and being out of my own environment and routines I’ve found that
I’ve developed some really bad habits-namely eating too much of the wrong food
and not moving my body any more than is necessary.
The reality is that at the end of a day running around
looking after someone else the last thing I want to do is run for myself.
I used to go to the gym, walk (I’m a former four mile a day
runner but I blew my knees out years ago and switched to walking long distances
instead) and maintained a rigorous stretching and exercise routine.
I ate a healthy, varied diet of vegetables, fruits, chicken,
fish, some red meat and low fat or sugar free desserts. It was satisfying, I
didn’t feel deprived and it gave me the energy I needed to fuel my life.
Unfortunately, it seem that these days I’ve pretty much
abandoned anything that’s healthy for whatever is quick and easy (which mean
it’s usually something frozen, processed and full of sugar and/or sodium). And
I greedily grab for any and everything that can give me a moment’s comfort or (faux)
sense of relief from my daily life’s stresses (read: junk food and sweets).
This is a classic case of emotional eating and sublimation.
Think of it this way, while the anorexic or bulimic denies
themselves food or regurgitate as a way to control one aspect of a life
off-kilter, (maybe) my eating and sloth like existence is my way of “not”
having to be in control when I have to be responsible for someone else all the
time-for the first time.
Hmmmm, maybe I’m onto something here….but, like the person
who tries to commit suicide-you’re trying to kill the wrong person….so, maybe
I’m force-feeding the wrong person, too (metaphorically).
No, I’m not saying I should be strapping Miss Cathy to her
bed and feeding her color coordinated food nonstop till she fattens up like a
piece of veal (not to say that she’s not doing a pretty good of that all on
here own)…but I digress.
No, what I think my “light bulb” moment is telling me is
that what I’ve been doing by engaging in behavior that I know is bad (and bad
for me) is that I’m punishing myself instead of expressing the anger I feel
toward my charge and the difficult situation I find myself in but was
unprepared for emotionally (unknowingly).
So, I turn to food (that tasty panacea) and inertia;
depression, denial and frustration all seem to more palatable when you’re
prostrate with a plate.
Great, now that I’ve acknowledged the obvious I hope it’ll
help when the cookies are calling me at midnight when I decide to stay up and
watch “Shoah”.
While I seriously doubt that anything will change overnight
with this revelation I do know that the first step to solving a problem is
acknowledging it. I didn’t exactly work up a sweat thinking this through but I
do think it was an exercise worth pursuing.
Who knows, now that the mind has been stimulated maybe I’ll
surprise myself next by moving my body…….even if it’s just to push back from
the table.
