The other day, I was thinking more about my masseuse’s comment: What kind of crazy stressful life are you living? To be honest, I felt kind of ashamed when he said that, bc duh, I’m not even working right now. I don’t necessarily feel super stressed, but then again, I also have a history of being oblivious to stress until it manifests physically (shingles, H1N1, walking pneumonia). While in Palm Springs though, I definitely noticed that I slept better. The hotel was so freaking quiet, and I slept uninterrupted through the entire night. At home, I have the toughest time getting rest. Every leadership and productivity book I read talks about the importance of sleep. There have also been recent studies linking shitty sleep to Alzheimer’s (which my maternal grandmother now has and I think my mother will have…). I’ve been trying desperately to get that shit sorted, so I don’t follow their same path towards crazy.

So after two days of rest and relaxation, I came back late Monday to a number of things that immediately swung me back into an anxious state. First, Marty completely soiled my new sectional with mud. Yes, the couch that is dry-clean only and requires water-free solvent!

Granted, the Bay Area was socked in with rain and wind while I was away– unusually wet and stormy weather. J says Marty was stressed bc I was away. I dunno: it’s never been an issue before, but seeing as old age is turning him into a different dog, I suppose it’s possible. Then, there’s also the high pressure changes that might have made him uncomfortable. Certainly, in the last several years, as a senior dog, he has never had a habit of getting on the furniture. In the last year, there have been times with his sundown syndrome (nighttime anxiety) when Bubbey has invited him onto the old sofa to spoon and calm down. But he never invites himself. I don’t know if he was stressed or confused or what. Needless to say, when I walked through the door and saw the extensive muddy mess ALL over the white chaise, I was so pissed. The weird thing is, typically I’m not one for keeping possessions in mint condition (I have a scratched car, scratched wood floors, dirty leather boots, etc.). I value use and practicality over keeping shit pristine and unused, but I dunno. It was less than a month old, and I was really trying to embrace this new art of staying tidy. Still, who could fault Marty. He wasn’t trying to act out. I mean, in his old age, he just isn’t quite himself anymore. J was beyond exasperated when I got home. It was interesting how in two days, our positions flip flopped. The week prior, I had been exhausted and frustrated. Marty was super clingy during the day (often getting in my way and causing me to trip on him) and then at night, he was restless, scratching his bed a billion times, panting crazy, and going in and out of the doggie door. I was so annoyed, I yelled at him a few times, and Bubbey tried to remind me that he was a good dog. Similar to what we have witnessed with our oldie humans, these elder years are fucking challenging, man. And if I think back, they were excruciatingly difficult with Remy too.

Maybe he just needed to feel safe in a den? So we brought out his dog crate. Both Remy and Marty were crate trained, and when we lived in Virginia, they were crated during the day. I’m a big advocate of crating but we stopped the practice in 2004 just bc they were fine without it. So I put him back in on Monday night, and shit, he started wigging out. WTF is going on? I let him out after a few minutes. Ugh. Probably too many years have passed since crate living. That night though, he slept like a fucking rock in the bedroom. No wakeups or anything. I was hopeful.

Then, the very next day, same shit as before: clingy during the day. I was thinking that maybe I ought to confine him to a room so I can rest at night, so I put him in my office where he usually sleeps while I am on the computer most of the day. In the middle of the day, I left for a few hours and when I came back, he had knocked the water bowl and was again stressed and panting. That night, the sundown syndrome was back with a vengeance. I got no sleep and in the middle of the night, I started researching this. Holy crap: so many forums where people have old dogs (> 11 years) and these same problems!! People liken this period to having a newborn. They aren’t getting any sleep and they are worried about functioning at their jobs during the day. They have tried everything: crating, melatonin, doggie xanax, Benedryl, sleeping in the human’s bed, etc. It makes me think of a comment my friend J once made about being the father to three children. He said, “Now I know why pigs kill (roll over) their young.” And it’s sad, bc I remember the glory days when everyone was young and happy and healthy. Remy and Marty brought me so much joy. How can I NOT try every possible option? So that night, I ordered a few tinctures plus some homeopathic sleeping pills. Part of the complication is that Marty’s kidney disease makes it difficult for him to process standard pain meds (for arthritis) and in the past when we tried xanax, it made things worse. And then with all the upcoming travel, I worry about getting him adequate care.

Meanwhile, in the last few weeks, I’ve been getting those calls in the middle of the night from mom in Taiwan. My phone rings at like 3am, and when I see it’s from Taiwan, I feel anxious that maybe something happened to the grandparents (all three are over 93 y/o) or my parents. Nope, mom just got the time change wrong. Jesus fucking Christ. Then, yesterday, after a sleepless night with Marty, I got a call from Dad at 8am. Johnny was supposed to cancel my grandparents’ return flight since they are going to live in Taiwan now but instead, he accidentally checked them in. Can I call United and fix it of figure out the cancel/change/refund situation? Ugh!! Dad is all maxed out and stressed. Normally, WTF. Get the AB Duke scholar (my brother) to call and fix his mistake! But then Dad sounds so stretched and at the end of his string, that Jesus Christ, fine. I’ll do it. Argh!! Next time, I will just have to call my brother and tell him to handle it. Fucking A. As for the “helping my parents” vs enabling issue. My dad just is not in the mental state right now to be empowered. Between dealing with my neurotic mother and handling all my maternal grandparents’ paperwork/logistics (the townhouse, medical coverage, housing– moving from place to place, travel, taxes, etc.) plus his youngest sister just underwent heart surgery, it’s just too damn much. And again, as I am seeing with Marty, old age is fucking my Dad over. He just can’t function the way he used to. His capacity is down big time.

I guess this is what people call the sandwich generation. It’s this period in your life when you are trying to raise and care for your own family while also handling eldercare. It’s especially stressful I think when you feel like there aren’t enough people to help. Like my Dad does everything (yes partly bc he is a control freak), but also bc my mother doesn’t have the capacity and bc my brother really is a fucking useless tard.

Anyway, as I write all this out, it’s no fucking wonder my muscles are tighter than hell. I’m just trying to take this shit one step at a time. The first calming tincture did not help Marty at all last night. Tonight, I’ll try the second one. I sure hope it knocks Marty out.