Peninsula Daily News column 7-28-11, "Don't panic about not being 39 anymore"

                Twenty five years ago, back when I started doing whatever it is I do at the tender age of 14, our job was to help “seniors” (not my favorite term, but we’ll leave that rant for another Thursday). I loved it then and I love it now.

                Interestingly, though, a lot of “seniors” back then, and many who have achieved the age of majority and, presumably, maturity during these twenty five years, while I attempted to cope with puberty and acne, knew their way “around the block;” that is, folks kind of “got” Social Security, Medicare, retirement, aging, etc – They’d anticipated it, they’d seen it done, they understood it.

                That’s not to say that everyone got it “right” (whatever “right” is) or never needed help (Did I mention Medicare?) or were just happy-as-clams until they moved on to better things, but the majority of the majority “got it” – They spoke the language.

                So, twenty five years later, what’s changed? Well, Medicare is exponentially more complicated, it takes more money just to live, while the economy is tanking, families are spread out over multiple time zones and the largest demographic hiccup in the history of the planet (Yes, the Boomers) have been working their collective tails off trying to raise kids and help Mom and Dad (and/or Grandma and Grandpa and/or in-laws and/or…). So, what?

                Well, the “So, what?” is that vast numbers of Boomers are finding themselves within striking range of “aging” – Oops. What that usually means is that it suddenly dawned on somebody that somebody was going to have to sign-up for Social Security (maybe) or Medicare (maybe) or think about retirement (maybe) – Oops!

                WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M NOT 39?! (Well, actually, I am – Just do the math above) That’s an astounding realization for most busy, hard-working people, because most busy, hard-working Boomers are in their early-to-mid 60’s, or rapidly closing in on same – It’s shocking, it’s scary and it’s sufficiently overwhelming for many to lapse back into denial (“I’ll think about that some other time”), which can actually work pretty well when you’re busy and working hard; unfortunately, that “other time” often occurs late in the evening, in bed, with the lights out: Oh My…! – And then, it’s morning.

                Oops.

                I hear this a lot from a lot of folks who aren’t 39: “What do I do? How do I do it? What do I need to know? I don’t know what I don’t know! Oh My…!”

                First, DON’T PANIC – It doesn’t help, it isn’t pretty and it scares pets.

                Second, we’re going to go “there,” meaning we’ll start talking about this “aging stuff;” No, I have no intention of offering some scholarly treatise or comprehensive compendium of everything that everybody could possibly need to know about being older than 39 – I probably couldn’t if I wanted to, but I don’t want to.

                No, let’s just talk about stuff that seems to come up a lot – Or should. And I’ll assume that you (whoever “you” are) are in your early-to-mid 60’s, or rapidly closing in on same, so you have some time to think and plan (Note: If that assumption is NOT true for you, and you need help with something RIGHT NOW, call any of the numbers at the end of this column and decent people will help you, for free – I promise).

                OK? So, this is NOT a crisis, but if you keep lapsing back into denial and losing sleep while you pretend that calendars go backward, it will be – And soon enough.

                OK? Have you had enough of “Oops?” Me, too, so kick-back, because this is going to take a while, but the “good news” is, we’ve got a while. Here we go:

                DON’T PANIC. I’m serious – Look around you, and tell me what you see? Never mind, I’ll tell you: What you see is a LOT of “seniors” who are happy, healthy, alive, well, laughing, “part of the solution” and wondering how they ever found time to hold down a job! Or, maybe they are holding down a job! Whatever! What you need to notice is: They aren’t dead.

                True, they (like you – Or me, if I wasn’t 39) have their troubles and/or medical issues and/or chronic conditions and/or difficulties, and they (like you, NOT me!) probably can’t do everything they used to be able to do, or as fast, or as…often, but they aren’t dead.

                Don’t be too quick to shrug this off: The personal realization that we aren’t going to be 39 forever can be devastating for some, because it means that we will, eventually, die; sure we knew that, but not really – And that’s scary.

                And then we start imagining (or, even worse, assuming) that our lives will spiral down and down into increasing disability, needing more and more help, able to do less and less, until we become whatever it is (or WHOever it is) that we saw that happen to, so our lives “end” long before they end.

                Does that happen? Yes. Does it happen to everybody? NO! Can I keep it from happening to me? Maybe. Can you guarantee that, Harvey? No.

                This is Earth – Nobody guaranteed you anything from the day you got here, and nobody is going to start now, but you’ve made this far – Somehow. Somehow, you’ve gotten through 5-6 (or more) decades, and I’ll bet more than your anticipated Social Security that it wasn’t always easy.

                I’ll bet it took courage and stamina and will. I’ll bet you suffered and I’ll bet you got hurt. I’ll bet you won some and you lost some, and I’ll bet you laid dreams, hopes, pets and people to rest along the way – But here you are.

                And I’ll bet that you’ve laughed and loved and reveled and played and savored and celebrated and GLORIED in the wonder of it all!

                And all along the way, you’ve decided who this person is that you will be; well, nothing has changed. You will still be required to make that same decision, every single day, so start today: Who do you choose to be?

                And how do you choose to be?

                And what do you want the people around you to take from your “take” on life?

                It’s OK to be a little scared – That’s natural – But if that’s all there is, then that’s all there is.

                And remember, we’re just getting out of the gate, so for now: Don’t panic.

Peninsula Daily News column, 7-21-11 "Today scary enough without Chicken Little"

                Maybe Chicken Little was right; at least, sometimes it sure feels that way.

                I listen to a lot of folks who are in a lot of different circumstances throughout most of western Washington on a daily basis. Most of them are “older” (“Older” than what? – Older than yesterday, I guess), and here’s what I’m hearing over and over: Fear.

                If you stop and think about it (although few of us ever do), “change” isn’t something that most of us embrace with giddy enthusiasm; no, most of us would like things to pretty much stay the way they pretty much are, right now. There are, of course, exceptions, like I-just-had-surgery-four-hours-ago or I’m-going-to-have-surgery-four-hours-from-now or I-can’t-afford-to-even-walk-by-a-dentist’s-office-and-my-mouth-hurts-too-much-to-eat or my-daughter-is-moving-back-in-with-me-until-she-can-get-her-last-tattoo-paid-off or…Well, you get it, but most of us are pretty enamored with the status quo.

                This isn’t exactly “news;” for instance, the old cliché about “…the devil you know…” has been around since Paul Revere rode somewhere to warn somebody of something, depending on what version of historical improvisation one subscribes to and, likely, well before that. So, what’s the deal?

                Most of us have been around long enough to know that “change” is constant and inevitable, so what’s so scary about it? Well, I certainly don’t pretend to know, nor do I pretend to be scholarly enough or philosophical enough to figure it all out, but near-as-I-can-tell, here’s what I think we all like so much about “today:” I’m not dead.

                For the few of us who actually stop and think about it long enough to stop and think about it, not being dead is a pretty attractive thing, generally speaking; granted, things may not be great, and maybe we don’t feel so swell and maybe we’re worrying about how to pay for this-or-that, or maybe we’re getting slammed in the face by the realization that we just can’t do what we used to be able to do and that we probably aren’t going to wake up tomorrow being 30-something; still, we aren’t dead today, so today can look pretty good.

                In my decidedly unscholarly and non-philosophical view, most of us just want to be able to handle “life;” to be able to do what we need to do with a minimum of pain, hassle and drama. To be reasonably safe, reasonably comfortable, eat, pay the bills, take care of ourselves in our own ways and maybe – If we’re REALLY lucky! – Love and be loved. Pretty much everything else is just “stuff.”

                And if you’re “older” or not feeling so great or all the parts don’t work or on a permanently broken “fixed” income or alone…Today is plenty scary enough.

                Then some turkey leaves the backdoor open and Chicken Little slips in:

                “The Social Security Trust Fund can’t be trusted!”

                “Medicare is going away!”

                “Medicaid is going away!”

                “Healthcare is going up and gas is going up and food is going up and electricity is going up and heat is going up and my income isn’t!”

                “Death panels!”

                “Put on a blindfold and pin-the-tail on the next war!”

                “THEY are going to blow us all up!”

                “This program that is keeping me going is going away!”

                …and the climate isn’t changing and plague and pestilence and pirates and hate and…”Them.”

                “They” know that fear motivates people, so since “they” want you to do whatever it is that “they” want you to do, “they” want you scared! – Whoever “they” are - And, unfortunately, they’ve gotten to be pretty good at it.

                So we end up being so scared about tomorrow that we lose today, and that’s the scariest thing I can think of.

                Sure, a lot of that bad stuff is out there and, certainly, bad things are happening; and, of course, we need to do the best we can and try to plan and try to improve and try to be smart and, if we have opinions, by all means, express them! – But, today is still today, and we’re still able to do what we’re able to do – Today.

                Maybe some of these changes will be for the better! Maybe “bad things” will be replaced by “good things!” Maybe we have to “hit bottom” before we can start back up, and maybe tomorrow will be BETTER than today!

                …and maybe the sun will rise in the north!

                But…fear?? After everything that most of us have lived through…fear? Enough.

                I know, like you know, that most of us won’t change the world, because we can’t; sure, we would if we could, but…So, do what?

                Take back “today” from those who would take it from us. Have a little faith. Remember what courage really is. Cope.

                Hold your head UP, because we’re not dead.

…and put Chicken Little on the menu for tomorrow.

Peninsula Daily News column 7-14-11 "Reader walks the walk on caregiving"

                Last week I went on about caregivers and caregiving. I do that a lot because there are a lot of caregivers do a lot of caregiving, whether we think of ourselves as “caregivers,” or not.

                And there are getting to be more and more of us caregivers doing caregiving all the time; in fact, on an hourly basis – Literally. And if we cave in…Well, it won’t be pretty for anybody.

                So I go on and on about this because what it really comes down to is keeping people alive, whether you’re giving the care or getting the care – Alive, day-by-day, getting through the day – Alive.

                OK, so I go on and on, but no one ever has or ever will say it as well as folks who have walked the walk, or still are, so here’s what one reader has to say, with her permission; we’ll call her “Joanne,” because that’s her name:

                “I read your column in the PDN faithfully. You are just so right on about so many things. Especially when you address the subject of caregivers. I was one of those for many years--without even knowing it.

My husband died of Alzheimer's. Being a caregiver to an adult is akin to being the parent of a tiny, helpless infant, only in reverse. The baby cannot care for itself; talk, walk, or do anything. Then it starts to smile, cries, burbles a bit and gradually it grows into a real, happy independent person.

                For the ill adult the process works backwards: slowly and almost  imperceptibly he/she becomes more and more dependent on someone else as he/she gradually becomes less able take care of himself: cannot dress himself, feed himself, walk, communicate, or do any of the things we automatically take for granted that adults do.

We are aware that our loved one can't do these things but we refuse to accept it. Denial is so much easier. We think if we work hard enough and love hard enough we can keep things running along as they were. But they don't. And we certainly don't want our friends or family members to know how difficult things are--we don't want to fail at our ‘job’ of giving loving care. I know, I've been there.

                As a result we often don't realize (or won't even consider) what is happening to us until finally a doctor says, "You do realize your husband/wife, has Alzheimer's?"

                 Of course we don't. How could we? This couldn't happen to us! But, sadly, it can and does.

                That realization often comes about the same time the caregiver is totally exhausted, or perhaps discovers ‘she/he’ has a heart condition or some other major devastating illness that will keep us from continuing our self-appointed tasks. That's usually when the ill partner ends up in a nursing home or perhaps has to have full time home care. And life as it always was is over for both partners.

                I know, I've been there. I was the ‘lucky’ one--I was the caregiver. I had the heart condition.

We moved to Port Townsend less than two years ago and my husband entered a nursing home. He had to have full-time care. I visited him daily, but his daily care was now being done very well by others. He quit walking and used a walker, then a wheelchair. He gradually quit talking or participating in any activities. He no longer knew my name. He did, however, brighten up and give me a big smile when he saw me, held my hand and kissed me goodbye when I left. These visits were so very sad. He was really gone.

                It's been nearly eight months since he died. I'm still working on regaining my health, thanks to good exercise and care. I am lucky to be here and have the loving family and friends I have, but I'm concerned about friends and others who are going through what I went through and are still in the denial stage. Being a caregiver is not always a choice but a necessity, and caregivers also need help.

                You offer much hope and good ideas for caregivers through your valuable columns. Thank you so very much for what you are doing to help so many others.”

                Sad story? Or a wonderful story about a sad thing? Joanne is a “survivor” and, obviously, did what she needed to do and chose to do so, to me, it’s a wonderful story. Could “help” have helped her? I don’t know. Could “help” you? I don’t know, but if you’re walking this walk, the word “help” is likely to get your attention, so one more time:

                If you’re in east Jefferson County, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 or 800-801-0050. Port Angeles/Sequim? Call Carolyn at 417-8554 or 866-450-3152. West End? Susie, at 374-9496 or 888-571-6559.

                Speaking of “help,” here’s another one from a been-there, done-that reader:

                “I have a couple of books to recommend to you and your readers. The first is brand new: ‘A Bitter-Sweet Season: Caring for Our Aging Parents – And Ourselves,’ by Jane Gross. I wish I’d had this book when caring for my mother. Not only does Gross narrate her horrendous experiences. But also gives practical advice about dealing with agencies (ahem!) and getting the most from them.

                The second book I read a few years ago, and mainly concerns Alzheimer’s patients in an institutional setting; surprisingly, it’s funny as well as sad. It’s called, ‘Dancing with Rose,’ and the author is Kessler (forgot the first name). I practically forced it on my mom’s wonderful caregiver, and she liked it, too.”

                “Help” only helps if it helps and, sometimes, just knowing that you’re not alone, helps.

                You’re not.

Peninsula Daily News column, 7-14-11 "Reader walks the walk on caregiving"

                Last week I went on about caregivers and caregiving. I do that a lot because there are a lot of caregivers do a lot of caregiving, whether we think of ourselves as “caregivers,” or not.

                And there are getting to be more and more of us caregivers doing caregiving all the time; in fact, on an hourly basis – Literally. And if we cave in…Well, it won’t be pretty for anybody.

                So I go on and on about this because what it really comes down to is keeping people alive, whether you’re giving the care or getting the care – Alive, day-by-day, getting through the day – Alive.

                OK, so I go on and on, but no one ever has or ever will say it as well as folks who have walked the walk, or still are, so here’s what one reader has to say, with her permission; we’ll call her “Joanne,” because that’s her name:

                “I read your column in the PDN faithfully. You are just so right on about so many things. Especially when you address the subject of caregivers. I was one of those for many years--without even knowing it.

My husband died of Alzheimer's. Being a caregiver to an adult is akin to being the parent of a tiny, helpless infant, only in reverse. The baby cannot care for itself; talk, walk, or do anything. Then it starts to smile, cries, burbles a bit and gradually it grows into a real, happy independent person.

                For the ill adult the process works backwards: slowly and almost  imperceptibly he/she becomes more and more dependent on someone else as he/she gradually becomes less able take care of himself: cannot dress himself, feed himself, walk, communicate, or do any of the things we automatically take for granted that adults do.

We are aware that our loved one can't do these things but we refuse to accept it. Denial is so much easier. We think if we work hard enough and love hard enough we can keep things running along as they were. But they don't. And we certainly don't want our friends or family members to know how difficult things are--we don't want to fail at our ‘job’ of giving loving care. I know, I've been there.

                As a result we often don't realize (or won't even consider) what is happening to us until finally a doctor says, "You do realize your husband/wife, has Alzheimer's?"

                 Of course we don't. How could we? This couldn't happen to us! But, sadly, it can and does.

                That realization often comes about the same time the caregiver is totally exhausted, or perhaps discovers ‘she/he’ has a heart condition or some other major devastating illness that will keep us from continuing our self-appointed tasks. That's usually when the ill partner ends up in a nursing home or perhaps has to have full time home care. And life as it always was is over for both partners.

                I know, I've been there. I was the ‘lucky’ one--I was the caregiver. I had the heart condition.

We moved to Port Townsend less than two years ago and my husband entered a nursing home. He had to have full-time care. I visited him daily, but his daily care was now being done very well by others. He quit walking and used a walker, then a wheelchair. He gradually quit talking or participating in any activities. He no longer knew my name. He did, however, brighten up and give me a big smile when he saw me, held my hand and kissed me goodbye when I left. These visits were so very sad. He was really gone.

                It's been nearly eight months since he died. I'm still working on regaining my health, thanks to good exercise and care. I am lucky to be here and have the loving family and friends I have, but I'm concerned about friends and others who are going through what I went through and are still in the denial stage. Being a caregiver is

 not always a choice but a necessity, and caregivers also need help.

                You offer much hope and good ideas for caregivers through your valuable columns. Thank you so very much for what you are doing to help so many others.”

                Sad story? Or a wonderful story about a sad thing? Joanne is a “survivor” and, obviously, did what she needed to do and chose to do so, to me, it’s a wonderful story. Could “help” have helped her? I don’t know. Could “help” you? I don’t know, but if you’re walking this walk, the word “help” is likely to get your attention, so one more time:

                If you’re in east Jefferson County, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 or 800-801-0050. Port Angeles/Sequim? Call Carolyn at 417-8554 or 866-450-3152. West End? Susie, at 374-9496 or 888-571-6559.

                Speaking of “help,” here’s another one from a been-there, done-that reader:

                “I have a couple of books to recommend to you and your readers. The first is brand new: ‘A Bitter-Sweet Season: Caring for Our Aging Parents – And Ourselves,’ by Jane Gross. I wish I’d had this book when caring for my mother. Not only does Gross narrate her horrendous experiences. But also gives practical advice about dealing with agencies (ahem!) and getting the most from them.

                The second book I read a few years ago, and mainly concerns Alzheimer’s patients in an institutional setting; surprisingly, it’s funny as well as sad. It’s called, ‘Dancing with Rose,’ and the author is Kessler (forgot the first name). I practically forced it on my mom’s wonderful caregiver, and she liked it, too.”

                “Help” only helps if it helps and, sometimes, just knowing that you’re not alone, helps.

                You’re not.

Peninsula Daily News column, 7-7-11 "Help is out there for caregivers"

                “Caregiver” is a funny word, because it means almost nothing to the people that it’s meant to describe.

                Everybody else knows what it means – Pretty much, more-or-less – But to most of the people that are actually “giving care,” it means…somebody else, like people who get paid to do the hardest work there is, whether that’s in folks’ homes or facilities or wherever; sometimes, it can even mean “…what my mother did” or “…what my sister is doing” or whomever wherever, but it almost never means “me.”

                Because “I” am just the daughter or the grandson or the wife or the husband or the cousin or the niece or (Yes, I’ve seen this) the ex-spouse, or or or – Or any combination thereof. And I’m just doing what I: want to do/need to do/should do/am supposed to do/have to do because of love/loyalty/duty/necessity or – Default: There isn’t anyone else who can.

                Or will.

                So, it’s “me,” and I’m taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of – It’s what I “do,” not who I am.

                Wanna bet?

                Here (again) is my operative definition of a “caregiver:” A caregiver is someone who is taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of, whether they (or you) like it or not. Sound familiar?

                Maybe you, Caregiver, are honored to be able to do what you’re doing – Maybe you’re not. Maybe you do what you do out of love – Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just one of those magical people who are natural caregivers and can give and give and give and find joy and fulfillment in the moment-to-moment acts of kindness and generosity that fill every day, while keeping several thousand balls in the air simultaneously in a never-ending performance of juggling 36 hours through a 24-hour day.

                Maybe you’re not.

                But those of us who do it, or have done it, know what’s true: It started out being “what we do,” then, somehow, it gradually became “who we are,” and it doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s 24-7/365 or just helping with this-and-that, now-and-then – It changes you; maybe for the better, maybe not, but change you, it will.

                It already has. Maybe it changed your life or your own family or your job or your habits, or even where you live. Maybe you’re doing things that you thought you’d never do, or things that you thought you couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do. And, maybe, this is all you can see for as far as you can see – It changes you.

                So, on we go, day after inevitable day, not being “caregivers” – No, that’s somebody else.

                No, it isn’t.

                And here’s something else that is almost universal for all of us who aren’t caregivers: There is almost no such thing as help, because here’s what we know: There is nothing and nobody who could do it as well or as gently or as lovingly or as skillfully or as patiently or as correctly or as unselfishly or as consistently as we can. Nothing. Nobody. Just us, so on we go, because going on is all there is.

                OK, I get it, but what if there were help for those of us who aren’t caregivers? -  I didn’t say “miracles,” I said “help” – What then? Would you take it? I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking, “Hmpf – Depends on what ‘help’ is.” You’re right; me, too. And what’s “help” to you might not be “help” to me. Fair enough.

                But would you try it? I know you don’t have time, but if this is all you can see for as far as you can see, would you try? – Then try this:

                If you live in the general vicinity of Port Angeles or Sequim, call Carolyn Lindley at 417-8554 (1-866-450-3152). If you’re in or around the West End, call Susie Brandelius at 374-9496 or 1-888-571-6559. If you’re anywhere in east Jefferson county, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 (1-800-801-0050) and say “caregiver” or “caregiving” or something like that – They’ll get it – And see where it goes. They can’t sell you anything because they don’t have anything to sell, and it’s not like you’ll be obligated to do anything – You can always hang-up or walk away, and go back to not being a caregiver.

                You have nothing to lose, except a few minutes that you can’t afford, and I know that as well as you do, but…What if…? Maybe. If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see – Maybe.

                And as long as we’re talking about miracles (because, we are), try this: What if you had a “chronic condition,” like diabetes or asthma or heart disease or arthritis or chronic pain or any of several thousand others, and you had an opportunity to manage those symptoms and get some of your life back, would you take it? I didn’t say get “well” – I said, “…get some of your life back” – Maybe?

                OK, you have another shot at a free (Yes, FREE) “Living Well with Chronic Conditions” workshop. It’s going to start next Thursday (July 21^st) at the Port Angeles Senior Center (328 E. 7^th), at 1:00, and go until 3:30; then, it’ll be at the same time for five more Thursdays. Not sure? Fair enough, go to http://livingwell.doh.wa.gov/ and have a look.

                The people who run these know what they’re doing, and the other people who will be there will know what you’re doing – Because they’re doing it, too. Just call Paulette at 1-866-582-1487 and say “OK” (or something like that) then, do it. It changes lives.

                If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see, maybe.

Peninsula Daily News column 7-7-11 "Help is out there for caregivers"

                “Caregiver” is a funny word, because it means almost nothing to the people that it’s meant to describe.

                Everybody else knows what it means – Pretty much, more-or-less – But to most of the people that are actually “giving care,” it means…somebody else, like people who get paid to do the hardest work there is, whether that’s in folks’ homes or facilities or wherever; sometimes, it can even mean “…what my mother did” or “…what my sister is doing” or whomever wherever, but it almost never means “me.”

                Because “I” am just the daughter or the grandson or the wife or the husband or the cousin or the niece or (Yes, I’ve seen this) the ex-spouse, or or or – Or any combination thereof. And I’m just doing what I: want to do/need to do/should do/am supposed to do/have to do because of love/loyalty/duty/necessity or – Default: There isn’t anyone else who can.

                Or will.

                So, it’s “me,” and I’m taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of – It’s what I “do,” not who I am.

                Wanna bet?

                Here (again) is my operative definition of a “caregiver:” A caregiver is someone who is taking care of someone who needs to be taken care of, whether they (or you) like it or not. Sound familiar?

                Maybe you, Caregiver, are honored to be able to do what you’re doing – Maybe you’re not. Maybe you do what you do out of love – Maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just one of those magical people who are natural caregivers and can give and give and give and find joy and fulfillment in the moment-to-moment acts of kindness and generosity that fill every day, while keeping several thousand balls in the air simultaneously in a never-ending performance of juggling 36 hours through a 24-hour day.

                Maybe you’re not.

                But those of us who do it, or have done it, know what’s true: It started out being “what we do,” then, somehow, it gradually became “who we are,” and it doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s 24-7/365 or just helping with this-and-that, now-and-then – It changes you; maybe for the better, maybe not, but change you, it will.

                It already has. Maybe it changed your life or your own family or your job or your habits, or even where you live. Maybe you’re doing things that you thought you’d never do, or things that you thought you couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do. And, maybe, this is all you can see for as far as you can see – It changes you.

                So, on we go, day after inevitable day, not being “caregivers” – No, that’s somebody else.

                No, it isn’t.

                And here’s something else that is almost universal for all of us who aren’t caregivers: There is almost no such thing as help, because here’s what we know: There is nothing and nobody who could do it as well or as gently or as lovingly or as skillfully or as patiently or as correctly or as unselfishly or as consistently as we can. Nothing. Nobody. Just us, so on we go, because going on is all there is.

                OK, I get it, but what if there were help for those of us who aren’t caregivers? -  I didn’t say “miracles,” I said “help” – What then? Would you take it? I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking, “Hmpf – Depends on what ‘help’ is.” You’re right; me, too. And what’s “help” to you might not be “help” to me. Fair enough.

                But would you try it? I know you don’t have time, but if this is all you can see for as far as you can see, would you try? – Then try this:

                If you live in the general vicinity of Port Angeles or Sequim, call Carolyn Lindley at 417-8554 (1-866-450-3152). If you’re in or around the West End, call Susie Brandelius at 374-9496 or 1-888-571-6559. If you’re anywhere in east Jefferson county, call Heaven Gregg at 379-4421 (1-800-801-0050) and say “caregiver” or “caregiving” or something like that – They’ll get it – And see where it goes. They can’t sell you anything because they don’t have anything to sell, and it’s not like you’ll be obligated to do anything – You can always hang-up or walk away, and go back to not being a caregiver.

                You have nothing to lose, except a few minutes that you can’t afford, and I know that as well as you do, but…What if…? Maybe. If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see – Maybe.

                And as long as we’re talking about miracles (because, we are), try this: What if you had a “chronic condition,” like diabetes or asthma or heart disease or arthritis or chronic pain or any of several thousand others, and you had an opportunity to manage those symptoms and get some of your life back, would you take it? I didn’t say get “well” – I said, “…get some of your life back” – Maybe?

                OK, you have another shot at a free (Yes, FREE) “Living Well with Chronic Conditions” workshop. It’s going to start next Thursday (July 21^st) at the Port Angeles Senior Center (328 E. 7^th), at 1:00, and go until 3:30; then, it’ll be at the same time for five more Thursdays. Not sure? Fair enough, go to http://livingwell.doh.wa.gov/ and have a look.

                The people who run these know what they’re doing, and the other people who will be there will know what you’re doing – Because they’re doing it, too. Just call Paulette at 1-866-582-1487 and say “OK” (or something like that) then, do it. It changes lives.

                If it’s all you can see for as far as you can see, maybe.