My husband and I just got home from an extended stay in
London, England. It was a truly great
trip, and I have to say I’ve come back changed, even if just a little – the result
of living in and experiencing a different culture, and dealing with my chronic
illness, and duties as a caregiver while being there. The purpose of the trip was partly as
vacation and something we’ve wanted to do since we met, but it was also something
of a working holiday for both of us. I
went with the desire to see the dementia/caregiver/aging/disabled person/hospice
experience in the UK, and how it might be different. I’ll be writing several blog posts about my
adventures.
In the last few years, pretty much since I became Dad’s
caregiver, I’ve worried every day about getting that call. It’s something every caregiver can understand. We all flinch just a little whenever the
phone rings, because we’re worried its going to be about our caretaker in some
way – some person to tell us the worst has happened and our presence is
needed. Every time I’ve gone out of
town in the last seven years, I’ve toted my phone with me everywhere, and have
quietly dreaded getting the call – and, occasionally, I have. On my first Thanksgiving with my
then-boyfriend’s family, I got the call that Dad had an infected boil and
needed emergency surgery. On the trip
to Hawaii when I got engaged, I got a call about another illness Dad was
suffering – fortunately, this one was less severe, but it still affected the trip.
The entire six months that we spent conceiving of, planning,
and organizing this trip, I thought about Dad and what I would do if I got that
call. I thought about how I would go
about arranging for a phone so his caregiver could contact me, and what I could
do in an emergency if I needed to fly home.
This was a wonderful trip of a lifetime that I was planning, and yet I
couldn’t enjoy the prospect of it fully because I was always thinking about
worst case scenarios.
When we got there, I got a UK SIM card for my phone within
hours of landing so that I could receive calls and check my voicemail until
such time as I could contact Dad’s caregiver with the number. When I did finally reach him, I felt some of
the weight slide off my shoulders, knowing that he could now talk to me as
needed. But the weight never fully
slid. Every time I checked my voice mail
and there was no message, I breathed a sigh of relief – until the next day when
I checked it. Every day that went by
without a call about Dad, I was happy, until the time when we were getting on
the plane to fly back home. In the end,
I never got the call, for which I am deeply grateful. I am also deeply grateful for the wonderful
care he receives that made it possible for me to even contemplate going so far
away.
Being a caregiver with a loved one always on my mind
certainly didn’t ruin our trip – I still had fun and learned a lot – but it
absolutely affected it, and I know this will be the reality for the rest of Dad’s
life. I’m still waiting for the call – I
will until Dad leaves this world – and I know caregivers everywhere know
exactly what I’m talking about.
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