The unexpected parts of caring<\/p>\n
When I meet someone with a caring role in their life \u2013 whether it\u2019s for an older parent who\u2019s seriously ill, a younger relative living with a disability, or a friend with cancer, there are three things that increasingly I find myself saying.<\/p>\n
The first is that whatever you\u2019re doing will have some good in it. It\u2019s highly unlikely that you\u2019re getting everything right, or that you\u2019ve thought about every single type of support and how you might make this happen. It\u2019s very likely that somewhere down the road as a carer that you\u2019ll get something wrong. But what you are doing is also remarkable because you are walking side by side with someone, for as much as you can, for as long as is possible or needed. That\u2019s not always an easy path to navigate, for either of you. So if you have a caring role of whatever nature, remind yourself from time to time that you are doing something that really matters and, importantly, that you\u2019re doing it to the best of your ability.<\/p>\n
The second is that, however much research you do, however much you think about what you would do, and however much you rehearse decisions or conversations with the person in whose life you have a caring role, it\u2019s worth bearing in mind that the person doesn\u2019t know about this script that you have \u2013 perhaps unknowingly \u2013 formulated in your head. This is the script where you suggest this, and the other person says \u2018oh how wonderful, I\u2019ll do that straight away\u2019, and then does so. This is the script that, in your view especially, not only makes the most sense but would make life so much less fraught for everyone if it was followed.<\/p>\n
But the problem is that the cared-for person has their own script \u2013 and you may not know it exists, never mind be following it. And then the neighbours may have a script that neither of you knows about, as does the GP, and the technician who adjusts the electric wheelchair, and the care worker, and the person in the caf\u00e9. And so on. We\u2019re all working to and rewriting our own scripts \u2013 of life, of work, of family, of understanding and meaning. So sometimes the best thing is to tear up your own script and just ask the person what they think and how they feel, and what answers they might have to whatever is going on in their life; because co-writing that script is possibly one of the most empowering and supportive things each of you can do for the other.<\/p>\n
And the third thing? Have some shared fun \u2013 as much as you can both find, even if it\u2019s the smallest of glimmers in the bleakest of moments. With my mum, during treatment for terminal cancer, we found fun where we could. I would whizz her along hospital corridors in the much-needed borrowed wheelchair, all the while making appropriate Formula 1 engine noises from behind. We won several Grand Prix races down those corridors, sprinting from scans to chemo, from clinics to pharmacy, from the oncologist\u2019s office to the Friends of the Hospital cafe. When hospital staff asked what she wanted them to call her, they always laughed when she told them \u2018Darling\u2019, or \u2018Your Honour.\u2019 They also laughed \u2013 as did she – when I said I wasn\u2019t going to start showering her because she didn\u2019t have enough money to pay the bills for the therapy I\u2019d need as a result. And they laughed at the community hospital to which she was finally discharged when, presented with a small bowl of tinned mandarins to eat, she asked if there was anything other than goldfish on the menu.<\/p>\n
Before that, still at home, she got stuck in the bath one day and \u2013 having ensured her modesty and safety with a towelling dressing gown and an emptied bath \u2013 it took quite a while to help her out, mostly because we were giggling uncontrollably as I got in and stood sockless behind her in the bath, squatting down to try to get some traction to lift. And then there was the day when she really couldn\u2019t hide how scared she was, and I invented a new dance – the Scottish cancan – and proceeded to demonstrate it, including full bagpipe noises and high kicking, while she drank some tea and laughed enough until she felt she could talk calmly about how things were for her. You\u2019ll have your own versions of fun. Some of that may feel small and quiet \u2013 the shared enjoyment of a nice slice of cake \u2013 or it may be large and noisy. But find them where you can, and enjoy. They will help you both if and when any tougher times come.<\/p>\n
Lorna Easterbrook www.lornaeasterbrookconsultancy.com<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The unexpected parts of caring When I meet someone with a caring role in their life \u2013 whether it\u2019s for an older parent who\u2019s seriously ill, a younger relative living with a disability, or a friend with cancer, there are three things that increasingly I find myself saying. The first is that whatever you\u2019re doing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":408,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n