My first ‘caring’ task as a student nurse was helping a man to put on his slippers. Doesn’t seem like a big deal…. but for me, overcoming the embarrassment of putting slippers onto a stranger’s feet was a significant moment. Although I soon developed the skill to bed bath, give injections and carry out all manner of caring tasks, that first encounter remains a key memory. No matter how small the act of caring, it makes a difference. But not just to the person in need of help, it makes a difference to the person who cares too.
When I look back into my childhood, I seemed to assume a role as carer very early in my life. The role wasn’t assigned to me, I just took it! Strangely enough, no one seemed to realize I had taken on this responsibility. I remember watching my two elder sisters either playing or fighting together. Everyone seemed oblivious to me looking when my elder sister got into trouble – she took the punishment – I silently wished it would stop!
Kate, our daughter was born in 1992. I was a mature mum and had been a ward sister for many years. It meant financial sense for me to carry on working full time and for Kevin to take on most of the child care responsibilities. Although he wasn’t a well man, he did enjoy his new role and the strong bond between Kate and her dad was evident. Did I miss out on the joys of Kate’s childhood? I tried very hard to juggle my responsibilities and rarely missed the school plays or sports day. I always tried to emulate Mary Poppins and be what I perceived to be a perfect mum. Ms Poppins, however, just didn’t seem as tired and rushed as me and consequently I never reached the imaginary goal! But I tried to do my best, providing for my family whilst still securing as normal a childhood for Kate as I could, free from the worry of having a poorly dad.
Interestingly, best laid plans don’t always come to fruition. Prior to being diagnosed with MS, Kevin used to have collapsing episodes and would need me to care for him until the feeling came back to his limbs. One day Kevin came into the house and looked particularly poorly. His skin was cold and clammy and he collapsed as he walked through the door. We had become accustomed to these episodes and the doctors hadn’t been able to identify a cause. I put Kevin to bed to allow him to recover. Kate was about 3 years old. She spent the next few hours on the bottom of his bed, playing quietly with her toys. A few years later, I asked Kate why she had stayed with her dad, playing happily with her toys. ‘I thought he was dying and didn’t want to leave him’, was the simple response. Without me realizing, at the age of 3, Kate had adopted the role of carer for her dad. She felt responsible for him and still does!
