It is hard for me to even seriously consider not sticking this out to the end. Having gone this far, this long . . . and with doctors telling me he is close to the end (weeks!), it seems preposterous to go shopping for a nursing home now. I am into my 7th year of being his caregiver. (In mid-Jan. 2012 he prepared a nice meal for us . . . for the last time. He used to love to do that. It was his final effort. He could barely move around in the kitchen.) (By Spring of 2013, I thought I was going to lose my mind because he wouldn't cooperate with having home attendants help out.) I pursued helping him apply for every benefit he was eligible for, which was no small undertaking. I thought home attendants in place would allow me to withdraw back into my own life to a reasonable extent. His needs escalated faster than increasing hours of home attendant service could keep pace with. He needs care 24/7. In 2014, I basically moved in with him, still keeping my own apt. It did not seem likely that he would survive another 4 years. In 2016, I found him a nursing home to try out. While there, he developed a bedsore.

I took him back to his apartment and healed the bedsore. He was happier also. I figured he hadn't too many months of life left. By the end of the year, he had pneumonia - which typically is what ultimately takes frail elders in the end. I nursed him, and he recovered. Within 4 months, he was diagnosed with pneumonia two more times. I nursed him, and he recovered. Nevertheless, doctors said the end was very near. They discovered lung cancer. They told me to stop bringing him to the Emergency Room. That was 6 months ago.

They told me treatment would be futile. One lung no longer functioned. But he wanted treatment, so I took him to the oncologist. He gets a new kind of cancer treatment every 3 weeks. Lately he stopped needing oxygen. His bad lung improved, despite spreading tumors.

My point is that he and I have been through an awful heck of a lot. Helping him access care, when doctors thought it was useless . . . and seeing him improve and find life enjoyable has been interesting and gratifying to me. His medical history is way, way more involved and more complicated than what I've just touched on. To have gone through all that I've gone through over the past 6+ years, just to step back now, feels too strange to imagine.

That's why I say it's hard for me to imagine not carrying on. That does not mean that I am wise to stay the course.

I appreciate your post, Disparaissant. Just because I can't imagine doing anything differently doesn't mean I've been wise in my choices. I've posted a number of threads on this situation, which I know you've read thoughtfully. Sometimes things are a lot clearer to others looking in from the outside. A little while ago, I told myself that, when a person feels trapped, that is often due to a refusal to really consider that there are other options.

Maybe I'm too stubborn. Since yesterday, I have felt so demoralized. That's not all coming from him. His one remark two nights ago need not have been such a big deal. I made it so. Commenting that the table looks a mess is not all that "disrespectful." It is a mess. I don't feel horribly "disrespected." I get depressed and find it hard to keep up with things. I let little messes accumulate. Then, seeing the accumulation, I get even more depressed. Eventually, I tackle the disorder and feel much better. He doesn't see why I wait. It's not his way.

I've asked him to understand that I struggle with recurring depression. Pointing out what I've failed to do just reinforces my feeling of discouragement. I've told him that the best way to help me climb out of a tailspin is to remind me of what I've done well. A pat on the head works marvelous wonders with me. I've asked him to try that instead, when I seem like I need a boot in the butt. But I've been telling him this for years and he never gets it. It's hard for me to believe that this is an honest failure to understand. I don't think he's that stuoid. How, after all these years (decades), can he not understand anything about my problem with depression, while I have learned to be helpful to him with every problem he's ever had? To me, it feels like he doesn't care.

For many years others who know us have told me that he takes a lot more than he gives. I let this go on. It seems like he is not going to die, until I have been drained of every bit of "giving" that is in me. And I let this go on. It is me who orchestrated the whole thing.