 |
| Andromalius |
on Sun 18 Jul 10, 4:11 PM to Andromalius's blog.
Care work is one of the most amazing things you can do with your time. My time as a carer changed me for the better. It made me appreciate so many things that we just take for granted. The simple joys in being able to move, to see, to carry. It taught me many things about myself and the world. You help people maintain their dignity and independence in the face of horror and tragedy and at the end of your allotted time, you get to go home.
Caring for a family member isn't like that at all. It's almost the complete opposite. It never stops. It never goes away. You can't go home, you're already there. You're not helping someone maintain their dignity; you're watching it being slowly stripped away. You did know them before this terrible thing began eating at them physically and mentally. You remember. And they know you do. Because so do they.
You have to get over yourself all the time when you're caring. Grief, sadness, self pity; all are in their way necessary emotional functions. None of them have a place here. All are selfish in the circumstances, or at least, any expression of them would be. Each and every day there's something horrendous that if one had time and space to actually consider it, to digest its meaning and take it unto oneself, would make most people want to curl up in the corner of a room and sob like a small child. Myself included.
That's not an option. You have to function. You have to function with a smile on your face and in your eyes because no matter how bad you feel, you're not the one dying of the horrendous disease. You're not the one for whom morale is everything. You're not the one staring into the distance as crippling nerve pain erupts continually from your decaying bones, paying for every breath.
My father was a giant of a man when all this started. I wouldn't have wanted to fight him, even at 79. Now he's a shrunken shadow, still fighting for every yard of ground lost, still not showing the pain. Those of us around do what needs to be done so he doesn't die away from home, surrounded by strangers. Now he eats baby food. It's all the primary in his stomach will let him digest, these days.
Three times now we've stood on the brink. Three times any reasonable expectation gave him no more than 48 hours. Three times he's clawed it back through sheer force of will. Each time, slightly lessened but each time unbowed. There are brilliant moments too, though they can make you want to weep. His refusal to be helped upstairs on his last return from hospital, despite looking like he was fresh out of a Japanese POW camp and by most expectation was ascending those stairs for the last time. Sheer acts of courage and defiance that make you proud, proud to be connected to such a man who each day stares this disease in the face and invites it once again to come and have a go.
People have been their ever constant mix of brilliant and utterly rubbish. Some have been selfless and thoughtful, filling in the gaps, taking us away from the cauldron one by one for a little while. Fixing us up, sending us back to the fight. They overcome that self imposed social gap that comes from having little positive to talk about and a deadened interest in anything beyond 18 prescriptions, a pill regime that cannot vary and which local supermarkets currently have baby food on offer. Others have redefined selfishness, with their outpourings of grief and sadness, their self indulgent drama or their complete lack of interest but none of that really matters. There's only what's in front. No point worrying what's over the hill till we've dealt with what's here.
Caring for a loved one is hard. The only thing I can imagine that'd be worse is not caring for him.
| 18 Jul 10, 4:23 PM peppermint3105 UK(BA), 2 yrs |
That last line says it all. My thoughts are with you, and your family at this time. |
| 18 Jul 10, 5:08 PM The_TOGmeister UK(BA), 4 yrs  |
As one who has walked your path, both as a professional care and who cared for both parents and who managed to walk away at the end more or less intact.
Peppermint has the right of it. the last line says it all and know this also, you are not alone. There are those of us here who will support you whenever you need it. Second childhood? Me? I haven't left the first one yet! |
| 18 Jul 10, 5:14 PM scarlettsamm UK(BL), 6 yrs |
having to rely [during a serious illness], on the care of those who loved me, was a deeply moving expierience, i was blessed to be loved and taken care of with such devotion, as is your Dad, im sure the loving care given to you Dad will be of great comfort to him, bless him, bless you and bless all carers, for all that they do, so unselfishly without question and with love. samm xxxxxx and Lady Stardust sang her songs, of..... Edited 18 Jul 10, 11:10 PM by scarlettsamm |
| 19 Jul 10, 8:54 AM RubyRouge UK(S), 4 yrs |
This is such a heartfelt post, and rings true to my experience of looking after my nan so much - its a tough read yet beautiful too. There are no words that anyone can put that can really help, only try and offer our thoughts and sympathy for the awful situation you and your family are in now. I really do feel for you. I hope that you can cope as best you can with the feelings and deal with them afterwards, and that when the end does come, it can be done in the way your dad wants it to, at home, with his family, with as much dignity as possible. "While the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?" |
| 24 Jul 10, 6:39 AM TheKageClub UK(M), 3 yrs £ |
Respect pal, big time. I hope you have any help you may need over the next few days. DtB Last Sunday Of Every Month 14:00hrs till 20:00hrs. At Partners, Whitelegge St.,Bury BL8 1SW. All Welcome, TV/TS And Kink Friendly. |
