I dreamt of death.
I can’t recall all the details, but that people around me were dying. Young and old. I was waiting for them to die, because I had somewhere to be. It was almost frantic, my trying to leave but being stuck. In my dream, there was an old man. I seemed to know him, even though I wasn’t sad that he was dying. He was tall and lanky. Maybe he was a family member or friend. I remember he was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. His ears were long, as old men’s ears and noses always grow with age.
I remember trying to pack my clothes in a hotel room full of people, needing to catch a flight. Yet, I couldn’t go anywhere until this man died. He kept pacing the floor, and those around me seemed to think this was normal. His lips were cracked and dry. His face was weathered and had deep lines, suggesting a life full of laughter and deep sadness that had been chiseled onto his face through time.
Someone said I needed to change his clothes. I remember feeling anxious. How do you get a dying man into clothes when he wouldn’t lay still? Then I looked around and noticed there was a clay-like mud all over, and this man kept wiping it all over himself. The other people in the room seemed exasperated that I wouldn’t keep this man clean, but I just wanted to leave. I was trying to have patience, but I really didn’t want to be there. I knew I would miss my flight if I didn’t leave soon and I was trying to find an excuse to leave.
Matthew woke me up before I came to the end of the dream. I groaned. Certainly not because I was unhappy from waking from that weird dream. I groaned because I wasn’t ready to be awake. My eyes are burning. I blame myself. I stayed up late with my daughter to watch “Footloose.” (The original movie…not that crappy remake!)
I think I maybe got five hours of sleep? Not all at once…I woke at least have a dozen times in those hours, but that is hardly new. When was the last time I slept through the night without waking up? I lay there, begging Matthew to give me just a minute. His leg is stuck. He can’t move it, so I use my leg to lift it high enough for him to bend and readjust.
His left leg gets stuck more and more often. He can’t roll over without help anymore. How long has it been since he hasn’t needed to wake me for help? I can’t remember. Its been at least a year, maybe longer where he has needed me to lift the covers, while he readjusts, or rolls over. Several times a night. His arms and hands no longer strong enough to lift the covers off his body. The leg thing…that’s fairly new, maybe in the last month.
Matthew wants to get up. He needs his trilogy mask taken off. He is uncomfortable and wants to get in his chair.
I just want to go back to sleep.
But I get up. One eye squinting, while the other refuses to open. I stumble in to the bathroom, pulling the sit-to-stand hoyer lift from the shower, (the closest and easiest place to store it) and I wheel it back into the bedroom.
I hit the power button on the trilogy machine. It makes one last screaming BEEP before it dies. I hate that machine. I remove the mask as carefully as I can from Matthew’s face, I notice the indents the mask has made on his cheeks. I know why he hates that mask. I couldn’t sleep with it on me, and I wonder how he is able to every night. Yet, I am sure being able to breathe with worth the uncomfortable feeling of something covering his nose and mouth.
I grab the remote control to his side of the adjustable bed and use it to incline him till it won’t move anymore. I still have to wrap my arms around Matthew and sit him all the way up. This is usually where I give him a hug good morning. However, I am still doing the one-eyed squint, and so today its a tug of war, as I try to sit him up without irritating my back. It’s spasms regardless of how careful I am.
I move the hoyer lift in, adjusting his legs, wrapping the belt around him and I hit yet another remote control that pulls him into a standing position. As quickly as possible, I maneuver him into his wheelchair, then hit the down button to slowly set him down. In the mornings, his legs feel strong, so I have a bit more time. I don’t need to panic that his legs will give out on me today, yet that fear is always there. Now that his legs are getting even weaker, I feel my anxiety rise.
I wheel the hoyer lift back into the bathroom,, both eyes open now. Matthew wheels himself out to the kitchen and turns on my coffee pot, as I flop back down on the bed. I want to go back to sleep, but I make the mistake of picking up my phone and looking at Facebook.
The support groups for ALS Caregivers have been busy. I put my phone back down. I don’t feel like reading any of it. I lay there, wondering about my dream and what it means. I hear Matthew rolling around in his chair, doing his version of tiptoeing and trying to be quiet so I can go back to sleep. I contemplate the idea, but my brain is waking up, so I guess I’ll get my body moving.
I won’t think about death today. Despite caring for someone with ALS, its not something I think about every day anymore. Maybe in the beginning it was constant. Now, almost two and half years after the diagnosis, our days are filled with foundation work, kids, and everyday stuff. ALS is just a part of our normal every day now. I try not to let the negative pop in, and today, despite my strange dream, will be just another day.
Some days I lose this battle. I have noticed I have to make a conscious effort at being grateful and present. Yet, I think some would call this being mindful as well. Today, I will find the positives, and I will stay busy, and I will not let my mind wander to that which I have no control.
But I think that dream will stay with me for a while longer…