If you’re a caregiver for someone with dementia as I am, then chances are good that you weren’t prepared for the job. I know I wasn’t.

When my husband, Tony, was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease in 2015, I was already caring for my mother, who had vascular dementia. Since I’ve never had children, I didn’t even have rudimentary caregiving skills prior to this.

Still, caregiving is more than the physical aspects of keeping someone clothed, fed and safe. For many of us, the emotional component proves to be far more difficult.

First, there’s the idea that our loved one has an expiration date. Sure, we all do, but that diagnosis of an incurable, progressive neurological disease starts the clock toward the inevitable for our loved one. That’s some heavy stuff.

Then, there’s trying to come to grips with the changes that our loved ones will experience as time goes on. This caused me difficulties, particularly with Tony, since we had been such a good team for decades. Little by little, he couldn’t hold up his end of things, and I found myself becoming frustrated and angry.

Tony, too, became frustrated and angry at himself, which was heartbreaking for me, reminding me that none of this was his fault, nor was it mine.

This is an ongoing process. For some of us, letting go of our expectations can be difficult. Doing things that we don’t want to do day after day can be a struggle. Perhaps this is why those of us in the Medicare GUIDE program are asked repeatedly how we are feeling.

Responsibility and love often are in the same stew as resentment, anger and frustration. That’s not a failure; it’s normal for a human in an unnatural circumstance. Many of us had to give up jobs and things that we enjoy to care for our person. We love our person more, but that loss is in there, too.

These past weeks in which Tony and I have been dealing with COVID also brought up another aspect of caregiving that people often overlook.

The medical community does not see our loved one with dementia or Alzheimer’s the same way that we do. Doctors are looking at the situation from an intellectual, fact-based perspective. They don’t have the emotional attachment to our person that we do.

Also, for many of us, there’s an idea that most problems can be solved if we find the right doctor or treatment. When our loved one has dementia, the truth is that sometimes doctors are unwilling to provide them with certain treatments.

For instance, my mother broke her finger in a fall one night. When we went to hand specialist who had been recommended, I was told that due to my mother’s age and condition, she wasn’t a good candidate to get it fixed. Intellectually, I knew the doctor was right, but I couldn’t help but break down when realizing that my mother’s “worth” had been diminished by her condition.

The same thing happened with my dear Tony. He’s not a good candidate for an implant for his sleep apnea, even though he’s no longer able to use his mask. When he was in the hospital last year, I was told he wasn’t a candidate for a pacemaker because of his Alzheimer’s disease.

Of course, I understand this on a strictly intellectual level. However, I grapple with the idea that he’s no longer “worthy” of treatments that could help him.

For so many reasons, dementia caregivers live in a state of grief that must be managed.

It’s not easy, but each of us must find a way to cope with it to keep caring for our loved one, as well as ourselves. After all, our loved one deserves to have the best life possible given the circumstances. Then again, so do we.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.