There is a woman who walks into my house every morning at 7:00 am.  Sometimes she goes into my kitchen and makes herself a cup of coffee.  She uses my bathroom, helps herself to dishes in my kitchen, puts dirty laundry in my hamper, and pulls linens out of my linen closet.  She reads the books on my book shelf.  Occasionally she comments on the cleanliness of my house or on something clever one of my children says or does.  She hears me yell at my kids, sees my bad moods, my messy kitchen, my pajama-wearing bra-lessness first thing in the morning, and I secretly believe she is tracking my menstrual cycle.  She observes.  She monitors.  She records.  She sits in my living room all day long.

Why do I put up with this?

Because she is my son’s nurse.  E has severe brain damage and is considered “medically fragile.”  Too sick to attend school with other children in similar conditions to his, he must be cared for in our home.  Every few hours he needs some type of medical treatment – a breathing treatment, a medicine dose, or a feeding through the tube in his stomach.  He must bathed, turned, and have his muscles massaged and exercised.  He has therapists and teachers who visit him periodically throughout the week, and she is there to work with them when I’m not home.  Even when E is healthy, his needs are critical and ongoing, and it is impossible for me to attend to him and my other two children who are 4 and 2 years old.  Without her we couldn’t go to the gym or to preschool or to the grocery store or to church.  Without her we couldn’t have any semblance of a normal family life.  My younger children would suffer.  E would suffer.  Our family would suffer.  I would suffer.

It’s an intolerable situation because we have no privacy – she is always there during the day.  But the alternative – putting him in a nursing home – is also intolerable.  I can’t bear the thought of E being out of my sight and influence even though I don’t directly attend to his medical needs.

We are blessed – E has two nurses that care for him on a regular basis.  With many agencies, nurses come and go and often you may not know who will show up at your door.  He gets better continuity of care because his two nurses know his habits, moods, and patterns.  The situation is as good as it possibly can be.

Still, there is someone in my house.  Every day.  Sitting in my living room.  Observing.  Monitoring.  Recording.

I know many of us live with seemingly intolerable situations.  I’m not asking for advice on my particular situation, but thinking about it made me wonder how other people cope with their own intolerable situations.  Discuss.