My parents are taking over my life.

That sounds like the statement of a desperate teenager, but I am, in fact, a middle-aged woman. I have started this blog to have an outlet for myself to explore the difficulties and frustrations of caring for two parents, both in their 80s. My mother has been diagnosed with mild to moderate dementia. My father has lived with diabetes and all its complications (heart disease, kidney problems, etc.) for more than 30 years; he's in a short-term nursing care facility now, and - yep - he also has dementia.

My partner and I moved to my hometown of Pittsburgh from New York City two and a half years ago so that she could take a new academic job. I had lived away for 25 years - almost all of my adult life. Shortly after we moved, my partner's father died, and then my father had a heart attack and my brand-new life fell apart. After his hospitalization, my middle sister (who also lives here) and I shuttled him back and forth to four or five different kinds of doctors, until he seemed to stabilize - and then, what do you know, my mom got sick.

Now there are many days I wish we'd never moved here.

Sometimes I am very patient with my folks; some days I have to stop myself from being mean. It is often emotionally more than I can tolerate, dealing with people who even on a good day don't make any sense. Add to that the fact that my parents were never terribly supportive of me anyway - my dad once screamed at me, about being gay, "Why can't you be normal!" - and maybe you get a picture of my dilemma.

I've tried going to a caretakers support group, but instead of supporting me it made me feel insufficient - just about everyone in the group had taken their demented parents home to live with them. For shame, Paula! I often feel like a "bad" daughter - a bit like the Louis Ironson* of daughters - because I can't, or rather won't, sacrifice myself in that way.


*Of Angels in America, who finds he can't take care of his lover with AIDS