Over here it really is a holiday for laborers, not mostly an excuse for an extra day of summer vacation for school kids, the way it is in the States. My office wasn’t closed, but it seemed right that Jip’s caregivers should have May 1st off, so I stayed home and took care of her for 24 hours.
She and I both had a fine time. We could hear picnickers and game players laughing in the nearby park. Jip cracked jokes all day, remaining patient despite my rustiness with the daytime routine (now I only do Sunday nights). From loudspeakers in the park nearby came a medley of festive songs (weirdly interrupted now and then by solo saxophone renditions of 500 Miles and Auld Lang Syne—maybe they were recordings made by the king, a noted sax player?) and the occasional official-sounding announcement.
I was struck again at how hard the work is. Jip’s wishes and routine are not complicated, but she does talk about them nearly nonstop. That means caregivers have to get good at making conversation, or at least at letting Jip know they’re paying attention. She seems to be hearing less well lately (I’m really hoping it’s ear wax rather than a rare symptom of this disease), so we also must remember to speak up when responding to her.
Massage has become part of the job, as Jip has begun to complain more frequently of shoulder stiffness. When she uses her standing frame, she now has trouble lifting her arm high enough to throw a ball.
And she still takes great comfort from her tooth brushing and mouth swishing, which she can make last longer than anyone else I know (2-3 hours when the morning and evening phases are added together). So while we’d both had a good day, we were really ready for bed when the time came.
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