Category: caregiver

Missed life flight

Aug 31st, 2023

My parents have been trying to leave grandma’s house since last Friday, but their flights keep getting cancelled. Once courtesy of EasyJet’s endless incompetence, and the other due to the UK’s air traffic control system melting down over the bank holiday weekend.

As I was redoing their beds for the second time, it struck me that the feelings we experience when our flights get cancelled are a lot like those of being an unpaid carer. Except you don’t get to have a nice latte from Pret at the airport; and there is no airport; and no aeroplane; but you do miss out on your life’s destination.

If you’re still following this tortured metaphor, the frustration of not going where you wanted to is akin to the frustration unpaid carers feel everyday when they think about the lives they want to lead, but aren’t. We sadly also don’t get a refund or a free rebooking for another life. And finding information or any compensation for our work is even more difficult than raising an expenses claim with a low cost airline.

My mum was frustrated she had to miss work, and my father couldn’t have made it any clearer that he didn’t want to be stuck with his mother anymore. Join the club, mate.

There is also that groundhog day feeling when you have to stay longer than planned somewhere that is not ‘home’; my mum was obviously bored and kept asking me what she was going to do (window shopping trips to Manchester seem to have sorted that concern out). ‘Welcome to my life.’ I thought. I work too much to cope with living the same day on repeat – until something bad happens and then all bets are off.

We also don’t get to experience pre-travel excitement or the warm anticipatory feeling of going home. We are stuck with no hope of a flight out when everyone is jetting off to live a life we can only dream of. I feel bad for all the travellers stuck in places they don’t want to be in and hope they manage to get home safe and sound. For those who aren’t carers reading this, please try this thought experiment: remember a time your flight was delayed or cancelled, recall the frustration you felt at not being where you wanted to be; at the lack of information; at not being listened to; and the worry of the extra expenses incurred. Try to sit with those feelings for 5 minutes.

It’s uncomfortable right?

Now amplify those worries by 10 and imagine living with those feelings everyday; that is what it feels like to be an unpaid carer.

At any rate, I hope my parents do manage to fly out as planned this week but I won’t be turning their beds down until they’re safely in the air this time.
Eye of the Grandma

Aug 28th, 2023

‘Oooh! Careful!’ I said as I grabbed the shopping cart.

‘I didn’t see that! It wasn’t there last time.’ Said grandma, with a chuckle.

I smiled and turned back to the T-shirt I was looking at, it was pink and had ‘libre comme l’air’ (‘Free as a bird’ in English) in black letters on the front. I was thinking of buying it for the irony alone. While I was thinking if it was worth the £20, I had let go of the shopping cart, grandma had kept walking with it and bumped into the mannequin next to me. She likes to push the cart and I walk in front of it guiding where we’re going – the cart acts as a walker for grandma and I’m her eyes. Her eyesight has significantly deteriorated over the last 3 years so our little shopping cart routine is a must to ensure M&S’s mannequins and displays remain intact.

Grandma is, for all intent and purposes, as blind as a 98-year-old bat. Macular degeneration has slowly robbed her of her sight and she is understandably finding it tough to come to terms with. I often find her crying in the living room on days she has tired to go through her bank statement on her own. Her magnifying glass and receipts strewn all over the table, her head in her hands. I rush in to cheer her up and help her go through it even if I have a full inbox and I really don’t have time to help her confirm that she did in fact spend £5.50 at the co-op.

We have a semi-regular appointment at the eye clinic to monitor her declining eyesight and very rarely (it has happened twice in 3 years) we see the low vision specialist. I find these appointments particularly heartbreaking as grandma pleads with them for stronger glasses ‘so I can just read’ . The answer is always the same, we’ve done all we can and no pair of glasses will help. This is where my carer instincts kick in and push the specialist with questions on what else we could do. After 40 minutes, we came out with 2 stronger magnifying glasses and some special glasses for TV watching. Grandmas was so delighted, she forgot where she was going and nearly walked into the lift door.

The TV glasses make grandma look like an alien with massive eyes, funny for me and she says she can see what’s happening a little better- a win all round. I also ordered her a large print book from her favourite crime fiction author to see if the new extra strength magnifying glass would work. When the book arrived, grandma’s excitement was palpable. I set her up at the dining room table with a makeshift stand for the book to rest on, shone the special bright light lamp she never uses on the first page and steadied grandma’s hand to hover with the magnifying glass over the title.

‘What can you see?’ I asked, praying she could read the large print.

‘This…is…the… night…they…come…for…you!‘ She read, haltingly.

‘Excellent!‘ I said ‘Right, let’s start the first chapter.’

I turned the page and positioned grandma’s hand over the beginning of the first paragraph. After a few seconds of her eyes adjusting, she very slowly began to read the sentence. I had time to make a cup of coffee listening to her slowly read the words aloud of the first paragraph. Smiling to myself as this was the first time she had read something since 2020. She had to stop after the first page because her eyes hurt, but we both felt it was a success and that the book will last her till Christmas; giving me plenty of time to hunt for another one.
Daddy issues

Aug 24th, 2023

Family alienation when you’re an unpaid carer. Let’s talk about it.

Caring is often a lonely and isolating experience, you don’t have time to do much else and you’re exhausted all the time so you naturally withdraw into yourself and tend to isolate as a way to cope. Or maybe that’s just me.

When it comes to family relations, caring can cause a real rift. On the side of the person doing the caring, there is often frustration or resentment at other family members that could help but don’t. On the non-carer side; there is often a lack of appreciation of just how hard the job is and therefore dismissal of how the carer feels. Plus they haven’t had to give up their lives so they have other priorities to focus on. Or maybe that’s just my family.

For fairness, both my (divorced) parents live in France- ze land of ze good social care. So the distance between us and the (comparative) healthcare paradise they live in makes it difficult for them to help or truly appreciate the problem. My mother still works and would help out more if she could. My dad, not so much, he is retired and has the time, money, and ability to help. But he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Why? Because he doesn’t care. It’s simple really; nothing about his mother’s situation benefits him, he’s not willing to make changes to his life or golf playing schedule , and his daughter does it very well for free. He also doesn’t care that me looking after his mother requires me to sacrifice my life, as long as it is not his, he’s fine with that. I don’t know what that clinical level of selfishness is called but it reaches ‘sociopathic’ levels in my view.

Some situations in life reveal who a person is. They say you only truly know a person when you’ve seen them try to build IKEA furniture, been on the phone to a never-ending helpline; or when their elderly mother needs help and you’re their only child.

In 2020, I became an unpaid carer to my grandmother, found out who my dad is, and lived through a global pandemic. Big year.

The result is that I haven’t spoken to my father in about a year and half, and if truth be told, I hate him. I hate his selfishness, his rejection, his lack of action, I hate that he chooses to ignore the problem and that he consciously puts himself first every single time and in any situation. I hate that he doesn’t even try, and that he hates me back.

The depth of those feelings have surprised me, it is like a volcanic pit waiting to erupt when I think about it. I’m too busy to dwell on it much, and I’m glad I made the to decision accept who he is, however difficult and rage-inducing it may be. I have known since I was 15 that he wasn’t the man I thought he was (this isn’t the first display of his true nature) but it has taken me 20 years to do something about and decide that I will not tolerate his behaviour anymore. I think he’s actually quite pleased that we don’t speak, he doesn’t have to deal with me and my pesky attempts to hold him to account anymore, plus it means he can go on more golf trips. A win for him – and that’s all that matters.

Every family is different, and they each have their own problems. I share this not to air dirty laundry on the internet, but because I think it is yet another aspect of being an unpaid carer that isn’t talked about. It takes shape in different ways, and I’m willing to bet that most unpaid carers face some form of alienation from their families.

I don’t think it has to be this way, having some uncomfortable family discussions when things are going well could help formulate caring plans and hypothetical distribution of roles so families can stay united in difficulty; and one member doesn’t unfairly bear the brunt.
The real undateables

Aug 21st, 2023

I think I got chatted up recently. It hasn’t happened for so long that I wasn’t sure what was happening and I didn’t know how to react. I’d managed to meet up with a friend to have dinner in Manchester on a Saturday evening. She was visiting from Italy and was treated to the full authentic Mancunian experience of pouring rain, a lot of dodgy fake tan, and some very revealing fashion choices . As we were walking to the restaurant, we got stopped in the street by a man who asked me if I was ‘that famous actress off that TV show‘. I looked at him blankly and assured him I was not. He then said I was ‘striking‘ and was ‘very beautiful‘. The poor man must be blind I thought as I hastily thanked him before hurriedly continuing on our rain-sodden route.

‘You should have said you were that famous actress and that you didn’t want to be outed.’ Said my friend as we entered the restaurant.

‘Oh that would have been perfect!’ I said as I shook and closed my umbrella.

Later that night , on the train home, as I was watching the drunk revellers loudly arguing and laughing, I thought about that fleeting interaction. I remembered my nights out in London and all the dates I had been on when I had control over my life. Granted, my dating life has never been successful. My friends know I have been on a date with every dickhead in London and have laughed at my many dating disasters (maybe that’s another blog series?! I’m told I have very good stories). As I look at my life now, at 35, dating is a distant memory. I have given up on that part of my life. I’m not exactly attractive dating material, I live in a small village with a 98 year old who depends on me for practically everything, I work all the time, and barely have time to eat, let alone go out. I’m not sure I’d even know what to say on a date anymore. I used to have an excellent first date repertoire, but now I’d have no idea how to answer the basic dating questions like:

‘What do you do when you’re not working?‘ (I go hiking in the rain on the moors on my own on weekend mornings.)

‘What’s your dream in life?’ (No idea, I’m too tired and depressed to think about that.)

‘What are you currently binge watching?‘ (Nothing. But I do fall asleep to very interesting sounding documentaries.)

To recap, I’m 35, live with and care for my grandmother, I have a big job so I have almost no free time, and I don’t drink. Sexy. And that last non-drinking part is the biggest red flag for British men, in my experience, even if they could get over my current living situation.

My very single status isn’t something I think about much, until I hear of one of my friend’s updates in the love department. I’m happy for them, but it makes me sad that I’m chronically on my own… not that I miss my terrible dates; like the time I had to sit through a drink with some guy who thought he was psychic and could read minds but somehow missed the massive lie I told to get out of there when he asked if I wanted another diet coke. The girls in the office got a kick out of that one on the following Monday morning.
It takes a cul de sac

Aug 17th, 2023

You know the saying ‘it takes a village to raise a child’? Well, it turns out the same is true for looking after the elderly. More precisely, it takes a cul de sac.

Moving up to Lancashire from London has shown me the value of local communities and friendly neighbours. When I lived in London, I had no idea who my neighbours were. I would sometimes hear the door to the flat on the second floor close and, in the four years I lived there, I never once heard a peep out of the neighbour on the ground floor. I only knew of their existence by the bicycle that was sometimes propped up against the hallway wall. Unless, in a surreal twist, the bike was in fact the neighbour.

Coming to live with grandma in the cul de sac was very different, all the neighbours knew I’d arrived to help her and, during the COVID- 19 lockdowns, they would stop to chat (from a safe distance) during our allocated hour of exercise. This friendliness surprised me at first and I wasn’t too comfortable with the level everyone is in each other’s lives. I don’t know why, I guess it may have something to do with my trauma at the local butcher loudly congratulating me on getting my first period when I was visiting as a teenager (grandma has never had any boundaries when it comes to gossip). I gradually relaxed into the ambient friendliness and realised just how wonderful it can be.

We all look out for each other, we help each other and, to put it simply, we care. This is particularly great when caring for the elderly. The next door neighbour will sometimes take grandma out for lunch and always takes her to her regular podiatrist appointment; a huge help when I’m working. When doing the weekly shop, I always make sure to get scones for the elderly neighbour two doors down because I know she loves them and can’t easily go out. The same neighbour also enjoys a good gossip over the phone with grandma.

Christmas Eve usually involves a procession of neighbours popping in to give grandma her Christmas presents as the doyenne of the street; and at Easter I make sure to get chocolates for everyone and deliver them like a demented bunny.

The supportive atmosphere is also helpful is less pleasant circumstances. Early one Saturday, the elderly neighbour’s dog walker knocked on our door worried that she couldn’t get an answer. I grabbed the keys to her house (we each have spare keys) and rushed round, expecting the worst and dreading what state I would find her in. Fortunately, after calling her name a few times, as I was checking each room in her house; it transpired she was having a shower and they’d been a timing miscommunication as to the time of the dog walk. Phew.

This neighbour’s life has been saved a number of times by other neighbours over the years when she’s fallen or, as was the case just last week, when the doctor made a mistake and prescribed her medication that nearly killed her. When this neighbour turned 80, she invited us all to lunch at a local restaurant and tearfully thanked us for our help. I looked around the table, I felt a wave of gratitude for all those ordinary people who do something so extraordinarily rare- they care and they act.

It isn’t all that grim up North, having wonderfully warm people around you makes you forget about the near-constant rain…maybe that’s why nobody wears raincoats up here, although that is still a mystery to me.
Who are you going to throw money at?

Aug 14th, 2023
‘That’s no problem at all. I’ll wait for your call and see if we can start again in 6 weeks.‘ Said the lady at the other end of the phone from the private caring company. ‘It actually helps my rota!’

‘Ok, thank you.’ I answered. That last comment didn’t register with me at the time as I was exhausted. I had called the private care company to cancel their visits for the next 6 weeks as grandma was deathly ill with pneumonia and I was looking after round the clock. I didn’t need their usual help with cleaning and taking her to the local shop.

I was reminded of that exchange when my parents (who both live in France) enquired with said private care company about getting extra help. They’d insisted on meeting with them, in a (misguided) attempt to help me I think. I knew what the answer would be and I was busy working so I was glad to have them out of the house to find out for themselves how little help is available, even if you’re willing, or more likely, forced to pay for it. They also tend to not believe how bad the situation is to I thought this would be a nice eye-opening experience for them.

‘Mais c’est pas possible!‘ (‘But it’s not possible!’) I heard mum say as she came into the house. I sighted and braced myself for a furious debrief of how the meeting had gone once my work day was over. A few hours later, I took a deep breath and entered the living room to ask what grandma wanted for dinner, knowing it would give mum the opportunity to talk about how the meeting had gone in the kitchen (and in French) while we cooked.

She was horrified. She’d discovered that I, in fact, wasn’t lying about the lack of paid carers in the UK and that the private care company had informed them they would not be able to provide us with more hours of help than the two and and half hours a week we already had. The concept of us having to pay for care was alien to mum in the first place as this is covered by the French National Security system and you only pay reduced rates in certain circumstances. Matters weren’t helped by an email the head of the caring company had sent following the meeting with my parents which, in a passive aggressive in tone, basically said ‘take what we can give you or leave it’. I thought it was a strange move for them to send that email but I wasn’t in the meeting so perhaps they felt it necessary to reiterate the points that they struggle to hire and keep staff. Very true, but not sure how their clients can fix the problem (apart from me sacrificing my life, of course).

For those who think they’ll be able to pay for care – I have bad news: there is a huge lack of paid carers in the UK, there are about 165,000 vacancies in the adult care sector. Which begs the question: when the worst happens, who are you going throw money at? If the private care providers can’t meet the needs of your loved ones, and the NHS can’t either – what do you do? The matter is all the more complicated when the person who needs care has complex needs. You need adequately trained paid carers to help, and they’re even rarer. So you’re at the mercy of rotas that change constantly, new carers every week that you have to train up on what to do yourself – essentially you’re paying for you to do the work half the time.

Need more convincing? Here are two recent stories that made the press:
- Carer shortage: Woman stuck in hospital for 11 months
- Mother stays awake for 60 hours as son’s care breaks down
These are not one off examples, this happens all the time. The system is crumbling and even the private sector can’t provide an adequate solution, if you can afford it. These stories leave me heartbroken and in despair that the situation is getting worse. Unpaid carers are screaming out for help and nobody is listening.
Explaining the inexplicable

Aug 10th, 2023

‘Pff! T’exagères!’ (You’re exaggerating) said my mum down the phone one Saturday morning as we were catching up on how the week had gone. This happens a lot when you’re a carer, more or less subtly. Most people can’t or won’t believe how hard life can be for unpaid carers.They can’t believe that no help is available, the exhaustion we feel, the frequency at which medical appointments get cancelled, the cost of private care, or the extent to which we have had to sacrifice our lives.

This is one of the most infuriating things about being a carer. Because, unless you have experienced it, it is impossible to understand or relate to our reality. The biases we all have creep into the opinions we form of each other’s situations. The skepticism towards the realities of unpaid carers’ lives adds to the loneliness and alienation we feel ( I certainly do). It also means that we can rarely share how we feel with the people in our lives who aren’t carers.

I think this is a huge part of why there is so little help for us. Because nobody can believe how bad the issue is… until the unthinkable happens and the awful reality of caring for a loved one hits. If the public at large can’t relate to the issues carers face, then it doesn’t get on the political agenda and no action is taken. In short, it is not an electable issue for politicians.

What can be done?

I’m not sure, I think a documentary where celebrities (or politicians?) spend a week with unpaid carers with cameras following their every move could be an idea. Would people watch it? Probably not- it would make for too uncomfortable viewing… although I might pitch it to Carers UK – I work in communications after all, I know how to tell a compelling story! Charities and community groups do a great job at bringing carers together, providing information, and getting our stories out in the press. The We Care Campaign’s video on the lives of unpaid carers is fantastic for example (watch it here) and we have to support their efforts.

To all the non-carers reading this (thank you for getting this far); I promise you that our lives are as hard as we describe. Yes; we have done our research. Yes; we are as tired as we look. And yes; it is as shit and unfair as it sounds. I’m aware that there are plenty of situations I can’t understand or relate to, and since I’ve become a carer, I have become more empathetic of what people go through in life. Because you truly never know what it will throw at you. I certainly never thought I’d be in the situation I’m currently in.

Incidentally, writing this blog has unlocked the door to a wonderfully supportive community of unpaid carers. A lovely antidote to the loneliness I feel. Thank you for reading, and caring!
Out of the mouths of old people

Aug 7th, 2023

My grandmother is hilarious. Unintentionally, of course, which is the best kind I think. I’ve collected some of the funnier (and publishable) things she’s said over the course of me living with her, I hope some of them make you giggle. Enjoy!

—

‘You can have an extra half glass of wine today in honour of bastille day.’ I said one Saturday.

‘Can we make it an extra full one? ‘ Asked grandma, full of hope in her voice.

‘No- that’s the English way. That’s the point.‘ I said, giggling.

—

‘What are you looking at grandma?‘ I asked as I was helping her get dressed. She was staring out of the window, deep in thought.

‘That neighbour in the corner, the curtains are always closed but they’ve started to open them. That house is quiet now…‘ she paused and added: ‘not like when we had that lady who was seeing the oldest swinger Rochdale. Cars up and down the street at all hours!’

—

Out of nowhere one morning after the usual dramatics about me putting on her various creams: ‘Do I have a lot of wrinkles?’

—

‘Grandma, if you’ve tried to go outside while I’m out, you’ll be in the…’

‘The shit!’

‘I was going to say ‘the doghouse’ but yeah. Such rudeness grandma!’

‘On a Sunday too!’ She giggled and clapped her hands as I put her favourite blanket on her before my regular Sunday hike.

—

‘This bowl is older than me…’ I said as I was preparing to bake a cake for Christmas. Without missing a beat, grandma said: ‘Everything in this kitchen is older than you!’

—

Grandma was updating me on an acquaintance’s funeral after having had a chat with neighbour about it. ‘Do you know that her funeral isn’t until June! That’s weeks away. Apparently, a lot of the ovens at the crematorium are broken.’

‘GRANDMA, I don’t think they’re called ovens!‘

‘Well.. you know what I mean.’

‘Just don’t go saying that in public!‘ I laughed, imagining awkward scenes at the funeral.

—

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ I asked after taking her for her 3rd COVID-19 vaccine.

‘No, I thought they’d be more old people though, some of the folks were only born in the 1940s!’

—

‘Do you want to go to the loo grandma?’ I asked after having had a lunch at a restaurant.

‘No, I’m like a horse.’ She answered. (I don’t know what that means either- she’d had a lot of wine.)

—

Of a University Challenge contestant: ‘I could hit him you know.’

‘Why? He’s probably just nervous to be on TV.’ I said

‘I don’t know!‘

—

‘I saw a full on drug deal in broad daylight in the Tesco carpark, they weren’t even trying to be discreet.’ I said one Saturday morning, as I put the shopping bags on the kitchen table.

‘What kind of drugs?’

‘I dunno, weed I suppose.’

‘They can come round here, we’ve got lots of weeds!’

‘Definitely not the same thing grandma…’

—

‘I don’t know why you have such an irrational hatred of him (speaking of a well-known tennis player). I bet if you met him, you’d think he was a nice person.‘

‘Sod that.’

—

‘Oh hello Joan!’ Said an elderly man as we were making our way into M&S.

‘Oh hello!’ said grandma enthusiastically.

They proceeded to have a 5 minute conversation catching up on everything from family to the general state of the country and the weather, of course. After we’d said goodbye, I asked:

‘Who was that?’

‘No idea.’ she answered.

‘But you had a conversation with him!’ I said laughing

‘Well he clearly knew who I was so you can’t be rude.’

—

Grandma is scared of thunderstorms, so I tried to distract her with a quiz during a particularly violent one:

‘Bulldozer of the bush is a species of which burrowing Australian marsupial? Begins with a W.’

‘A wombo!’ Said grandma enthusiastically.

‘No. But close- a wombat!’

‘Which of these mammals is a herbivore? A skunk/ a meerkat/ a wolf/ a rhinoceros?’

‘A hippo!’

‘That’s not even one of the options!’

—

I feel it is important to humanise the people we care for, as that often gets lost in amongst their age or medical conditions. If we all kept in mind that they are people too, they might get the help they need and deserve.
I don’t have time to live

Aug 3rd, 2023

‘Eugh’ I sighed ‘I don’t have time for this.’

I say these words everyday, several times a day. For the purposes of this blog, I counted that I’d said this 7 times yesterday.

Let me give you some context, I have a big job covering several time zones across Europe and North America. I am almost always on calls with colleagues, have a never-ending mountain of work to do, and an overflowing inbox. On top of this, as you know by now, I’m also a full time carer to my 98 year old grandmother. My days (and nights) are a constant juggling act of different priorities. I realise that I am lucky in that I am still able to work, I can do most of my work remotely, most carers don’t have that luxury in the UK.

But all this comes at a cost. I don’t have time to eat most days, sleep is elusive, I am always rushing from one thing to the next, I don’t have time to do anything properly, to think, to cook, to take a shower, to write this blog, forget going out, or doing anything remotely fun. Essentially, I don’t have time to live. I exist, that’s all I have time for. At 35, the burden of my caring responsibilities have cost me everything apart from my job.

Here’s an example of what I dealt with this week, I had been volunteered by my boss to present to my colleagues (the company I work for is huge so this represented a significant amount of people)- she told me on Monday afternoon UK time and the presentation slot was 48 hours’ time, Wednesday afternoon. I was mostly on back-to-back on calls until then, had several other deadlines to meet before I delivered this presentation. Plus I had to take grandma to a doctor ‘s appointment on Wednesday morning (the GP’s surgery had cancelled and rescheduled 3 times so I was determined we were going),all this on top of all the daily caring tasks such as cooking, cleaning, intimate care, entertaining etc.

When did I do my power point slides for the presentation? I did them on Tuesday night after grandma had gone to bed at around, I tried to get my exhausted brain to focus on what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it. And that only brought us to Wednesday.

Why didn’t I tell my boss that I had too much on, you may well be thinking? Because I don’t want her to think I can’t handle my responsibilities, historically not a good career move. I can (sort of) handle them, I just do it in my own way. I also refuse to let my current caring situation affect my job prospects, I’m ambitious and I don’t see why that should be curtailed because I also have other (unfair) responsibilities.

That’s the thing about working when you’re an unpaid carer, you have to be careful about sharing too much with colleagues. They most likely won’t be able to relate, or think my responsibilities make me less good at my job or say the usual platitudes that infuriates us carers – invariably a version of ‘you should look after yourself’.

It angers me that I’m forced to live in permanent exhaustion because social care is woefully lacking in the UK. If you can keep working, you’re verging on burn out and if you can’t, you might get a measly £76 a week in Carer’s Allowance to do the job our taxes should pay for, and you’re more or less forced into poverty. Either way, there is no help.

Right- I’d love to keep writing but I don’t have time!
Horse Power

Jul 31st, 2023

‘And what do you do?‘

Uh oh, I thought, we’re getting into dangerous territory here. I had managed to get away for 5 days to go to Portugal to do what I love (and never get to do): horse riding. I had booked a short stay at a stud farm/hotel that offers dressage lessons to guests. My short escape was worth the logistical nightmare and I was enjoying meeting and speaking to people from all over the world who like the same thing I do, it creates an instant connection which means the conversation flows as soon as we meet over the first dinner we spend together. In these situations, I like to keep the conversation on the guests who inevitably have more interesting lives than I do; their stories remind me of the life I am I missing and the passion I am not pursuing. Plus I enjoyed having conversations with people closer to me in age, who can hear things first time, doesn’t involve medication or what days the bins go out.

During a particularly ‘horsey’ conversation – we were all trying to figure out what our (excellent) instructors meant by their somewhat confusing instructions of ‘more forward but back’, ‘shorter reigns, but relax’, or the particularly obscure ‘TAK TAK!’ – the person next to me asked me what I did for a living, they’d clearly had enough horse chat for that evening. I smiled and explained that I work in communications for a technology consultancy. I was weary of having to go into more detail as revealing my status as an unpaid carer to my 98 year old grandmother inevitably draws out a lot of questions that I have heard and answered more times than I can count. I simply didn’t want to talk about it. I hadn’t thought about grandma since I’d got on the plane and didn’t want to start now. She was well looked after, someone would call me if anything happened , and I didn’t feel guilty for leaving her.

This lack of remorse or worry surprised me, I usually worry about everything. I put it down to emotional exhaustion , I simply didn’t have the capacity to care for the 5 days I was gone. This is what caring does do you, it changes who you are – not for the better.

I successfully steered the conversation away from me and back onto my dinner guest thus avoiding the ‘You live with your grandma?!’/ ‘What about your life?‘ questions. My ‘secret’ eventually came out a day or two later but I felt ready to answer the questions that followed, I kept them short and light in tone until my companions got the hint and moved the conversation onto which brand of riding gloves were the best.

During my getaway, I realised one of the reasons I love horse riding is that I am unable to focus or think of anything else while I’m on or around horses. For a depressed, anxious person like me this is a huge deal. For those two hours a day I was on those beautiful animals trying my best to get a dressage movement right, that’s all I was thinking about. In that moment, I was back to being the Laura I was before. I was happy, I was focused, I was loving being in the picture perfect setting of the Portuguese countryside. Horses take me out of my head, they give me comfort and peace. I love everything about them and just looking at them fills me joy. A joy that I have lost over these past three years, a peace that has evaporate and been replaced with constant work and worry. I came away thankful for the passion I have and for what it gives me when I able to indulge in it.

I also came away very sore, muscles screaming, which means grandma and I are both struggling with her mobility exercises at the moment.

Category: caregiver

What can be done?

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