Starting to Hate My Favorite Tunes

 

When I lived with my mother who had Alzheimer’s disease, I needed to be very punctual. I helped her at the same hour every day with tasks like waking her up, taking to the toilet, sending her to day service, and serving her dinner. I set alarms on my smartphone, using my favorite tunes to let me know when I needed care of her.

Being a caregiver for an Alzheimer’s person is not an exciting job. Actually, I hated it. Escorting my mother to the toilet was unpleasant. Supporting her with meals was boring. I cared for my mother for over ten years. The alarms always disturbed my private time. It felt like they made me take care of her.

             When my mother was in day service or short stay, I listened to my favorite tunes on my smartphone. I used the shuffle function, and sometimes my smartphone played the tunes I used as alarms for caring for my mother. When I heard the tunes, I thought, “I need to go take care of her.” At first, these were my favorite tunes, but I ended up connecting them to caregiving. I started to hate my favorite tunes.

             Now, my mother is in a nursing home. A few years have passed. Do I still hate the tunes I used as alarms?

             I actually can’t remember which tunes they were. My favorite tunes have become my favorite tunes again.

             That is nice. If I hated the tunes forever because I connected them to caregiving, I would feel bad for the artists who created them.

             I thank the artists. I got through the long hard caregiving because of the tunes. You know what? Music has actual powers.

Picture by mounel

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My Impression

A few years ago, I passed out at home. My wife called an ambulance, and I was admitted to a hospital. I was in the intensive care unit and was completely unconscious for a week. Sometime the next week, I regained consciousness, having had a narrow escape. Thanks to the doctors and nurses at that hospital, I became almost fine a few weeks later.

One day, when a doctor and I were chatting, the doctor said to me, “I couldn’t have imagined that you were the talkative type.”

I was shocked. I am the talkative type. All of my friends know it. How could someone assume something like that?

When I had met the doctor, I was in a coma. I didn’t have any expression on my face. He knew my “real” face. Depending on how he had seen my real face, my appearance would have looked reticent.

I am an adult, so I do know the meaning of the saying “Silence is golden, and speech is silver,” but my impression could be reticent to anyone. From now on, I should actively speak to everyone. I don’t want to be thought of as the reticent type.

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Picture by Ichiro Kamiya