How the bloody hell does this thing work?! 

I was wrestling with a complicated looking inhaler that had just been delivered, the instructions were rudimentary and I couldn’t figure them out. I could hear grandma’s rattling breath in the other room.

OK focus- she needs this. It can’t be that difficult. I said to myself.

I sat down, took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes and took another go at assembling the tubes and attaching them to the scary-looking mask. You may feel I am being overdramatic, so let me give you some context: I had a deathly-ill grandmother who could barely breathe; had not been able to get any medical help from anyone remotely qualified; instead I had been given a long and complicated prescription from the doctor over the phone that had taken days to come; I hadn’t slept more than 3 hours a night for several days; and had to be on a work call in 15 minutes. The rushed assembly of the aforementioned inhaler was proving a bit much for my addled brain. I am also a high-functioning anxious mess at the best of times so I was struggling to keep my head. I really wanted to get some medication into her lungs before my call so it would be easier to pretend I was fine to my colleagues and try to focus on what work I was going to have to get done.

This scenario is not at all unusual for me or indeed for any unpaid carer. If my life were to be made into a film, it would be called ‘Operation Fear’. I’d quite like Jessica Chastain to play me. I look nothing like her but she’s my favourite actress, Dame Judy Dench could play my grandmother, they look alike and they both have the same degenerative eye condition. Anyway, I digress; it would be the most boring film with very repetitive dialogue, mostly of me asking: ‘Are you OK? Do you need anything else?’ Or saying: ‘No, you can’t have another glass of wine. You’ve had your two.’

My experience of being a carer is that you mostly operate on fear. You’re nearly constantly second guessing yourself, worried or downright scared about decisions you have to make or how you reacted to a situation. On a weekly basis these are the thoughts that consume my already-anxious mind:

• Is she OK?
• Where is that prescription? I must follow that up.
• What day are we?
• Sod it. I’m too tired to eat.
• GOD, I’m supposed to be in two different meetings at 2 but I have to take her to the clinic then!
• Has she had enough to drink today?
• Did she take all her pills? I must check.
• Why is the NHS so useless?
• Poor grandma was crying again over her eyesight. I must cheer her up later.
• Was I too harsh with her? I’m so crap at this.
• Her legs are so swollen, maybe the flights socks aren’t working? I’ll have to do some research.
• Should I call the doctor over that coughing?
• Do we need more help?
• Another new carer? They really can’t keep them for very long. I hope they’re good.
• Where THE FUCK is that prescription?! We’re going to run out.
• She slept all afternoon, is something wrong? Should I wake her up?
• Did I brush my teeth? I’d better do it again to be sure.
• I look so tired, I hope work doesn’t notice.
• I can’t hear grandma getting up, has she died?

That last thought is a new anxiety loop for me. I have started catastrophizing about my grandma’s death, even when there is no reason to (apart from the obvious). Another outlet for my anxiety.

Come to think of it, maybe ‘Operation Fear’ could be an off-off Broadway play with Jessica Chastain sitting in the dark on stage holding her head in her hands with a voiceover repeating those worried thoughts. Someone call her agent, quick!