Firstly, my congratulations to Great Britain for their success in the Olympics. They have the most medals of any country that’s not among the two richest nations in the world. Secondly, my personal thanks to those who have voiced your support and condolences over the past few months for Eileen, even those who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.

                   As part of my ongoing education in the realm of being Eileen’s full-time carer, I went for the first time today to meet with a carers’ support group. What I was expecting was for all the people in the group to be dealing with similar situations, but I was in fact the only one dealing with a cancer sufferer. Others were dealing with spouses suffering from dementia, refusing-to-die 90-year-old curmudgeonly mothers, special-needs children, and one was dealing with a drug addict son. While I thought my situation was a cakewalk in comparison, there was no one playing the hand of “Well, if you think THAT’s bad, check THIS out.”  When I told my story, the group seemed genuinely sympathetic, and also intrigued by my being American. I also forget in what context I mentioned it, but my three divorces got quite a response, one of the members suggesting that maybe I marry Eileen just to see if I can get it right.     

                    When the two members were talking about caring for elderly parents, I immediately thought of my dad’s situation. My dad has been in a Veteran’s Administration hospital for the last six years, approaching his 89th birthday, continually in decline health-wise, but still hanging in there, even though he doesn’t really want to. There are days when he doesn’t get out of bed at all, and even fewer days when he has the desire to be wheeled outside his room. His last time leaving the hospital grounds was a year ago for his grand daughter’s wedding. His carer spends about six hours a day, five days a week with him, and has to do everything that the nurses don’t. This is what I envision a professional carer’s job to be, though it’s helped by the fact that the carer really likes my dad, and that of the 6 hours a day that they’re together, my dad sleeps through 3 or 4 of them. In the hours when my dad’s awake, the carer has to tend to absolutely EVERYTHING, not unlike handling a baby, except that my dad speaks in sentences (though not always fully coherent ones!), and weighs more.