Most blogs start with a post explaining what they’re about. Mine’s going to begin a little differently, with who it’s about. Because the truth is, the topics here matter less than the people (and one very opinionated inner voice) you’re about to meet. Once you know them, everything else I write will make a lot more sense.

So, let me introduce the cast.

Me
I’m Maggie. During the day, I work in communications, which mostly means I spend my time helping people make sense of the healthcare system, a system seemingly designed to be understood by no one. Outside of that job, I’m a wife, a spoonie, and a caregiver. Being a spoonie means I live with multiple chronic illnesses that don’t care about my schedule and whatever other obligations I may have. Additionally, I’m the primary caregiver for my grandmother. I didn’t plan on being the narrator of this particular story. Most people don’t. But here we are, and I’ve decided the only way to survive is to write through it, honestly, and hopefully with a sense of humor intact.

Grandma
She has lived a full life. Full of family and friends, love and laughter. Always willing to fight for those she loved, she was generous, kind, and empathetic. She could also stare down the school principal into submission when her kids or grandkids needed defending. Going toe-to-toe one minute for her best friend, and then visiting a sick neighbor with a smile and soup, the next.

She has Alzheimer’s now. That’s part of her story, but it isn’t the whole thing, and I refuse to let it become that. She’s still funny sometimes, at moments that catch me off guard. She’s still stubborn and ready for a fight. You’ll meet her in pieces, the way I do now, some days more of her showing up than others.

My husband
He didn’t sign up to be a caregiver’s spouse, but he’s become one anyway, mostly by just quietly showing up. He’s the one who notices when I haven’t slept, who takes the phone call when I just can’t, who has learned when I need a hug and shoulder to cry on. He’ll show up here too, in the ordinary, unglamorous moments that actually make up a marriage during the hard times.

Mildred
And then there’s Mildred.

Mildred isn’t a real person. She’s the voice in my head who shows up when I’m already running on fumes, to let me know it’s still not enough. She’s convinced she’s just being honest. She has strong opinions about my to-do list, my worth, and my apparent inability to do literally anything correctly. She sounds like a boss I had once. Completely horrible person.

Giving her a name was the only way I found to fight back. It’s a lot easier to argue with her than to try to argue with myself.

Why any of this matters

These are the people (and Mildred) that you’ll keep running into here. Some days, this blog will be about Alzheimer’s and the strange grief of losing someone slowly. Some days it’ll be about the practical stuff, like figuring out how to fit everything in without even close to enough hours in the day. Some days it’ll just be about Mildred, and how to tell her to shut her trap. And some days, it’ll simply be about what it’s like to carry all of it at once without dropping any of it, even when you want to.

Some days you’ll see me fighting. Some days you’ll see me simply surviving. Both count. I’m glad you’re here for either one.