Living life in the "ready room"

On U.S. aircraft carriers during World War Two, fighter pilots who were on duty but not actually in the air waited in “ready rooms” until the time they were called to launch themselves into action. By all reports, the atmosphere in these rooms was a mixture of boredom, tension, nervous anticipation, memories of past actions, and fears and concerns about future ones. The pilots typically put on a brave, even blasé, front, but undoubtedly fooled no one, not even themselves.

As my mother's health problems have advanced over the last year-and-a-half or more, both the number and variety of her ailments and the number and variety of her hospitalizations increasing all the time, I have been experiencing my own version of what I've come to recognize as “ready room syndrome.” Nervousness, tension, fearful anticipation of the next incident, and a mix of unpleasant memories and worries about the future have become a part of my day-to-day life.

I am not complaining when I say this, I am merely noting the fact. My mother has always been my best friend and confidant. After the loss of my father back in 1999 in an accident that left her injured, and perhaps jump-started the series of health problems that led to her current situation, I have felt ever more responsible for her, and protective of her.

My brothers, both of whom live reasonably close, and their families have helped, of course, and I am deeply grateful for their efforts. Without them, the situation as a whole, and my stress level, would be vastly worse than it is now. However, they have families of their own, and so their efforts, energies, and attentions have necessarily and rightly been divided.

Since I am currently single, and have furthermore been living in the home I've shared with my mother (and my father, while he was still alive) since 1989, Ma has been the major focus of my life since her health started to decline. Again, this is not a complaint, merely a statement of fact: I love my mother, I am deeply grateful for all she has done for me throughout my life, and I consider it a privilege to return some of the love and care she lavished on me when I was growing up. To slightly modify the familiar saying, “she's not heavy, she's my mother.”

Nonetheless, I cannot deny that it has been a strain at times, especially recently, as her overall health has declined still further. I have spent ever more time, it seems, in the ready room, less time below-decks in the crew quarters or wardroom.

Recently it has come to me that I need to be much more intentional about practicing what is known as “self-care.” This is not selfishness, it is an awareness that if I am constantly stressed out -- and thus run down -- not only can I not function as well in other necessary areas of life, of which there are many, but I am also not in condition to provide the best possible support to Ma when she does need me.

Unfortunately this is easier said than done. It is hard to get out of that ready room mentality, to force oneself to relax -- a seeming contradiction. It is essential, though. And so I am trying hard to practice better self-care: to eat fewer meals out, get less carry-out, and cook more at home; to get in bed earlier, rather than stay awake until exhaustion overtakes nervous tension and forces me to bed, and even to find or make time for an occasional nap; to practice spiritual disciplines that are relaxing and centering; to take time to spend time with friends.

Has it helped? A little. You can't undo patterns of 18 months duration or more in a few days or even a few weeks of trying. But I'm making progress. That's the important thing. And so I want to encourage other caregivers who may be in similar situations to do the same: it's easy, I've found, all too easy to let the cares and strains of caregiving interfere with other aspects of life.

It's important to eat right, sleep enough, exercise and/or spend time outside in nature, where the largeness of the natural world helps put our human issues in perspective, pray or meditate, and as the saying goes, “let go and let God.” It's not easy, but it's essential. You can't spend your whole life in the ready room.