Janice M Cali
Failure to Thrive
Zeus, Couldn't Thrive
Note: Be prepared for a stream of consciousness, it happens.
Failure to Thrive is a term used by Psychologists, Psychiatrists and other professionals in the mental health business. It is a term used to describe a person who isn't thriving, i.e., has given up the will to live but isn't ready or is willing to kill themselves.
That was me, is me, sometimes. Why? If I knew that I wouldn't crawl into my bed and quit life. I'd be up and doing things that I love, whatever they are, and I'd always be busy, like I once was. What happened this year to put me in bed and give up the active will to live? I can actually answer that, somewhat.
The first thing that happened was the realization that my greyhound was not going to live much longer, six months, a year if I was lucky; after that, the realization that I had spent myself into a financial hole that I will probably not be able to dig out of without selling my home, even though I want to sell it, having to sell it is another thing entirely; third, my parents are ailing, failing would be a good description and I feel guilt that I don't see them often enough, that seeing them sends me into a deep depression that can last for weeks; that I am not and never will be the healthy, beautiful, vibrant woman I once was, and finally that I would always have a physical handicap that makes walking difficult without a cane, that the physical problems that I have, arthritis, fibromyalgia, migraines, unrelenting pain, chronic depression, will never go away, that I will have to live with these things for the rest of my life. The fear that I will give up like my father has, that I'll be unable to walk, like my mother, that I will be incapable taking care of myself. These are all of the things that put me in my bed for almost six months.
Oh, I had times when I was up and capable of functioning, but they were rare and only after a medication adjustment, or change. Now I'm out of bed again, and somewhat functional, why, medications, again. We have changed some, added some, adjusted doses on other, and I can get out of bed and do some things around the house. I can't drive more then two miles, thanks to the idiot who tried to run me off the road, but I can somewhat function. What do I fear now? That the medications will stop functioning again and I'll be right back where I was six months ago.
Zeus, was a special dog, his death was so expected and unexpected, both at the same time. I knew I would lose him, but when I did it was so sudden and so unexpected, I thought I had more time to say good bye to him. But I didn't and now my fears center around my Roux, she will be 10 in October, and she is a large dog, well not as big as Zeus, but not as long live as greyhounds, so how long do I have with her? My animals are one of the things that make me live. Losing them is so diminishing, so painful, I take so much longer to get over the loss, especially when they aren't yet old enough to die, as with Zeus.
And my parents. Yes, they are elderly and I think my father is ready to die, I think he has given up and is now almost anxiously awaiting death. Why do I say this? Fairly simple you see my parents have been married almost 66 years, they have been devoted to each other, loved each other for all those years, but two weeks ago, my father said something that was shocking to me, and totally unexpected and uncharacteristic, he said, “I'm so tired of her,” referring to my mother.
Mom is so afraid that my father is going to die before her, that she has taken to trying to control everything he does, every little thing. She nags at him, incessantly almost, something she has never done so overtly. Mom wasn't a nag, but she was a controlling person but she was supportive of my father. Now she tells him everything, do this, do that, don't do that. She's killing him inadvertently, because she's taking away what little fight and will to live that he has left.
Mom, doesn't realize what she's doing, part of it is that she doesn't hear well, she won't wear her hearing aides because they are uncomfortable, but she refuses to have them adjusted, she is unwilling to try to wear them. Even though we are arranging a speech therapist for her, who will show her how to use her hearing aides, she is unwilling to try. Then there is the pain she's always in, the same type I'm in, with the exception that she's lived with it since she was in her 30's, that over 50 years and believe me that's a long time to live with unending pain.
Up until about seven years ago she was still functionally able to move, do things for herself, but over the past seven years this has been slowly eroding to the point that now she can barely do anything for herself. She has to have someone come in seven days a week to help her get dressed, when she showers she has to have someone help her get there and get out. She can no longer cook, she can't even make coffee, imagine a woman who always did everything for herself and her family, who dedicated her life to her husband and children but now needs to be taken care of and all she can do for her family is nag her husband into disliking being in her presence.
My parents are rarely apart. They are apart when one goes to get the mail, when my father goes to the dining room to pick up their dinner or when one of them has a doctors appointment or when my sister or I take one or both of them to the store and they go their different ways. This means that they spend the better part of 24 hours a day, seven days a week together, and this is more than most people can stand, and it is finally getting to them, at least to my father.
So, one wonders why I fail to thrive? I can't do a damn thing to help my parents, I can't make their life better, I can't help them get out and away from each other, because they are physically incapable of getting out much and I'm physically incapable of helping them in and out of the car, and now I'm incapable of driving to the town they live in because of an idiot last week.
One of the things I want, would like, is for my parents to move closer to my sister and me. There is a very good nursing home (if such is really possible) just up the road, I know the head of nursing, I know the therapist that goes there once a week, and I know that if one or the other of us (my sister or I) drops in unexpectedly, daily, then they will have great care. But they aren't ready, or so they think.
What does all this mean to me? It means that my depression deepens, my fears heighten, and I fail to thrive without extreme measures of medications and therapy.
Now, those of you out there who are also failing to thrive, I have a word or two, you know me, to say directly to you, if you're reading, keep struggling, fight, do whatever it takes to find whatever it is that will help you find a reason to live. Something, anything, that will help you find a real reason to live, and continue to live. If it is a person, a pet, a cause, whatever, find that reason, make that search your life's work if necessary, it's what I'm doing.
I know there is a passion out there that will make my life worth living, and I'll keep trying new things until I find it. Whatever it is, whether or not I'm physically capable of doing whatever it is, I'll find a way. I want you to do the same. Find your reason to live, continue to live. There is a 63 year old, slightly overweight, and screwed up lady who cares, even if she doesn't know you. I may not be able to love in the conventional means, but I can care, and I do care. I care if you are alive, for every unnecessary and untimely death is a loss to me, to the planet and to God. Remember there is a reason we are all here, we may not know what that reason is, we may never know but to end our lives early, before they are finished is to diminish this world and its needs. It diminishes me, you and all those who know, knew and will come to know you.
