Uneven aging: The afflicted partner's anger
Even among parters with magnificent levels of self-regulation, anger easily arises in Uneven Aging, especially when the disparity lasts for months. There are, to me, Three Furies: those angers generated by injustice, frustration, and fear.
Anger feels like walking on a floor full of glass shards: tiny slivers such as a cancelled appointment, jagged chunks like a surgical complication—and the afflicted person is walking in bare feet. The caregiver, shod, tries to sweep a clear path, but just like the debris from a dropped glass, sometimes misses fragments.
My first experience with anger in an unwell partner was over forty years ago, when I sat on a café terrace with Lewis and Paul. Paul had AIDS, and by then was in a wheelchair. I joined them for a late lunch, and arrived after my dance class, still in the ragtag dance pants and legwarmers of jazz ballet. When I mentioned the class, Paul, who had been a professional dancer, said, "How nice for you." I had inadvertently struck a nerve.
Paul's bitterness was so intense that conversation was nearly impossible; he answered me curtly and glared at passers-by. I didn't know what to do except spend an awkward hour chatting with Lew about films and travel. As I was leaving, Lew pulled me aside to say, "Thank you. I'm sorry he's like this."
Lew saw several therapists during the years he cared for Paul. Despite differing approaches, there were similar themes for dealing with an afflicted partner's anger.
1. Resist making threats, such as, "If you're going to act like that, I'm not taking you out." Remove blame from the conversation. (Paul admits that in the car on the way home he said, "You wanted to do this, and you ruined it.")
2. View anger as a smoke alarm, a signal that needs or wishes are not being met.
Approach the conversation differently: Lew tried to identify what Paul might be feeling, test if that's accurate, and then listen. He might say, "I guess seeing friends who are able to do whatever they want is really tough." If Lew's guess was off-base, it would not be a mistake, because he would still learn more about what's under the anger.
Paul said that was so— but also he was angry that "everyone" saw him looking ill, his face covered in lesions, his once-lithe body bloated. Behind the anger were other feelings: embarrassment, shame, and grief. Lew heard that and could respond with tenderness.
3. Only after the afflicted person has been wholly heard, make your own requests.
Lew asked what the lunch had been like and learned that Paul had seen my shock at his appearance. He wanted to engage with friends (not in public, it turns out), and was upset about those he thought were avoiding him.
Only after that was aired, Lew spoke about how Paul's anger could affect friends, and how it drained him. He asked Paul to speak openly about how he felt both physically and emotionally, and said that those invited might not be prepared for his bitter mood.
Even in a less serious illness, the caregiving partner will likely still encounter some level of anger, from a flash of irritation to the more intense expressions.
The afflicted person may keep anger bottled up, and receive praise for their stoicism; however, health care professionals, trained to deal with it, recommend expression. The "Fuck Cancer" posts by teenagers undergoing treatment allows them to vent to others in the same situation, a powerful cultural shift. The foundation bearing the same name is dedicated to prevention, research and cure, moving anger into action.
Lew said something I remember still: "Once I listened for what his anger was about, I had to be honest with myself; I had expected him to act like someone who would get better. As long as I believed that could happen, I denied my own grief."
Paul is gone now, but I still have a copy of the haiku that Lew, in his architect's printed handwriting, had posted above his desk:
Lew is referring to his faith. He has been a Buddhist for over fifty years.
He wishes to stay present and not slip into denial; the "our" respects that he and Paul still shared a life.
When we met last spring, Lew paraphrased the words of his recently-deceased fellow Buddhist, the poet and environmental activist Joanna Macy, who wrote that "the sorrow, rage and grief you feel is a measure of your humanity." He said, "I didn't know it at the time, but by taking care of him, Lew made me a better person."
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