Cindy-Lou Dale
Photojournalist
Our forgotten people
Care Workers
the heroes of British society
We all may need care, or to provide care. When I was a boy, I watched my own mother care for my father after he had a stroke. Like her, there are now many people - daughters, sons, parents, relatives, friends and neighbours - who give help and support in many, many ways to those they're caring for. (Tony Blair)
These unsung angels of mercy are seldom spoken of in polite company. We might not like to admit it but most of us prefer not to think of the elderly, the infirm, or the mentally retarded. We are too busy with our own lives and careers to concern ourselves with these issues.
I recently met with Heather Marais, a 47 year old, sweetly unobtrusive lady, in
“How do old folk cope with the omnipresent loneliness of their last years?” I asked Heather.
“My two most recent clients both of whom were over 85 preferred in the majority, their own company and as such dealt with loneliness in a noble fashion. I think class and social status has something to do with this.”
Heather continued and spoke of one client she chose to refer to as Prof. R. She explained that for the majority of the day Prof. R kept himself busy looking through the business section of the newspapers, or watching the news or sport on television.
She then told me of Mrs. M, “She dealt with her loneliness in a similar way – she was a well educated surviving spouse of a Dean of Faculty and was quite happy with her own company. She spent most of her time watching television news, reading the newspaper and lamenting at length about the degeneration of morals, of religion, of sport and the downfall of the world. We shared many views, berated political leaders and together made the world a better place."
Heather reflected for a moment and told how Mrs. M loved classical music. “She would spend at least an hour a day listening to the radio and would on occasion ask me to put on one of her many LP records. Over tea, we would have our chat times. This was when we mended the world, talked about old times and any other issue that was under the microscope that day.”
Mrs. M’s pets played an important part in her life. Heather claimed they at times required more attention than she did. Minnie, the Yorkshire terrier, was an integral part of her life right until the end.
“To both these clients I became I guess, the confidant and friend; a person to sometimes confide things to, things that were never disclosed to their families.”
Heather added that she always tried to keep some form of respectful professionalism, mindful of her clients’ privacy. “I became very fond of both of them and am sure this feeling was mutual. I feel privileged to have been the person to make their last few months on earth as happy and as caring as possible. They both embraced old age with dignity.”
THE UNKNOWN
“But surely not all your clients were like this? I asked.
Heather’s smile faltered. “Definitely not.” She considered her response for a moment. “Mrs. G was 97, the poor dear. She desperately hung onto the little freedom and independence that remained with grim and embittered determination. She was bad tempered and generally an unpleasant person. I think she was very frustrated – understandably so, due to her limited vision and hearing. She eradicated loneliness by being demanding, hysterical and suspicious. She resented and was furious with the restrictions that old age brought with it. She listened to taped books on a cassette recorder with reluctance, but got bored quickly. She demanded company even if she had nothing to say. She was very demeaning and derogatory, hated having a Carer and I think, hated just about everything and everyone. Again, a pet spaniel played a vital role in being an unconditional loving companion, and was the most important living creature in her life. She fought old age with suspicion and dirty tactics, but I am certain, was just terribly, terribly scared.”
We fell silent for a while, me contemplating my twilight years and Heather somewhere beyond the horizon.
GRIEF
“What about sorrow?” I asked. “Sorrow that life is drawing to a close, sorrow for the loss of their partner?”
Heather contemplated the question for a moment, “None of them discussed sorrow with me. Daily survival was paramount. Strangely enough, there was not a lot of sorrow. I’d like to think that my company helped with this. Anyway, their pets keep them busy. Their pets were their best friends. They adored them and I think they viewed their pets as their lost friends, spouses and families.”
I asked Heather about the clients that made the biggest impression on her life.
“I’ve undeniably been influenced by Mrs. M with her ‘seize the day, live each moment’ motto. All my clients enriched my life in their own unique ways. I have never felt so worthy nor so humbled. I think I made a real difference in their lives and they made a huge difference in mine. Being a Carer is the best job I have ever had.”
EXHAUSTION
We spoke a little about Heather’s former life. I was astounded to learn that she had been in senior management for a large property broker in the city before deciding to change direction. Now, as opposed to business suits and board meetings, her life revolves feeding, dressing and bathing a frail old person.
“One poor lady I cared for was 54 and in the terminal stages of Alzheimer’s. She was totally incapacitated. I did everything for this poor soul. Every morning I’d get myself dressed, fed and watered, prepare clothes for Mrs. J, wake her, partially undress her in bed, get her out of bed, lift her onto the bath wheelchair, lift her with a hoist onto a the commode, take her through to the bathroom, shower her, dry and dress her with the aid of the hoist, clean her teeth – I often got bitten, take her through to the lounge in her wheelchair, lift her onto couch, prepare breakfast, feed her – which took on average 45 minutes and ended with more food in her hair and face than in her stomach, medicate her, clean house, make coffee, more feeding and drinking, wheelchair hoist, toilet, wheelchair couch – on average three times a day, I’d make lunch, more hair feeding, toilet, prepare dinner, feed hair, medicate, dinner for husband - who incidentally, adored her as much as the day they married. After dinner and clearing away of dishes I’d hand over caring duties to her husband for the night. That was the most incapacitated client I’ve had."
Heather spoke of her mental and physical exhaustion. “You must bear in mind that for most elderly folk to do anything like get up in the morning, go to the toilet, wash, dress, eat and prepare for bed at night takes about ten times longer than it would take us younger people – the everyday things that we all take for granted are now a time consuming, sometimes painful and often frustrating chore, taking hours out of a day.”
FEAR
“I love the tales of the good old days,” I said. “You must have heard plenty of their recollections.”
Heather nodded in agreement. “Yes plenty – especially their memories of WW2. None were good and they preferred not to dwell on it.”
“What about their biggest fears,” I asked.
“I know this may sound conceited, but I think they most feared me leaving. None of them enjoyed being left alone, even during my two hours break each day, and they absolutely dreaded if I took a week off and trained up a replacement Carer. Although I took all the care I could in trying to choose a suitable replacement.”
I asked Heather if they spoke of death and what special instructions her clients left her, should they die whilst in your care.
”Both the Prof and Mrs. M made very specific arrangements for their funerals, right down to what music was to be played. The Prof occasionally discussed what his bequests were. Mrs. M did not ask me directly to do anything, but she discussed that she would never want her animals - both rescue animals - to go to other homes, and without her asking, I promised that if ‘anything happened to her’ – the word ‘death’ was never spoken - I would make sure the animals were put to sleep. Not another mention was ever made nor did it need to be.”
PLEASURE
I asked Heather what she enjoyed about being a Carer.
“On a physical level, the challenge of travelling to a different county, making a home in a new town every few months and meeting different people – it’s great. Earning decent money helps too.”
Heather told me that she had worked abroad doing similar work in horrendous conditions. “Few British people realise how fortunate they are in having such a well functioning society. I’m constantly learning new skills. I love animals, so taking care of them is second nature to me, taking care of humans may be a little more demanding but my past clients made me feel it was more of a privilege than a job. On the mental and emotional level, I think that being appreciated, being admired, being told how wonderful I am, and knowing that I am making a real difference their lives -- is what it’s all about.”
Most care providers, including agencies, employ their staff directly and must give some training by law. This is typically two to four days and includes manual handling, health and safety, risk assessment, hygiene management and often food/nutrition. Specialist agencies may give training on electrical hoists and on certain diseases and disabilities. Agency staff are expected to either pay for their own training (£80 - £250) or commit to work for the agency for three months or more.
PASSING ON
We spoke for a while about death. I asked Heather to recount some of her experiences.
“Saying goodbye to the Prof when my first stretch came to an end and I returned to
“Not being there to say a final goodbye to Mrs. M as I was on a week’s break and returning to put her animals to sleep.”
Heathers tears welled up, “That has to rate as one of the worst days of my life. I had been notified of Mrs. M’s death whilst on my week off and returned early as there were many arrangements to make and packing up and redistribution of Mrs. M’s belongings. I had made arrangements with a wonderful young vet to attend to the animals the day before I left. Liz, the vet arrived as arranged and we first went upstairs where I had to keep Tinkerbelle, Mrs. M’s cat, locked up since she came in for her food in the morning and then disappeared until dinner. Liz had brought a nurse, blankets and towels with her. We all sat down on the bed and the vet wanted to discuss the possibility of re-homing Tinkerbelle. While I was explaining the type of cat she was, Tinkerbelle became very agitated at having to stay in the room. I explained that Tinkerbelle was mainly an outdoor cat and only came in for food and hated being kept inside. Liz understood and agreed it would be best to put her to sleep as Mrs. M had wanted. Micky, the Yorky, did not like being left out and whimpered to be let into the room. She always kept an eye on all proceedings in the house and never left Mrs. M’s side despite the many doctors and nurses attending to her. Right up until and during Mrs. M’s death, Micky was there. So I thought why not, and let her in. The nurse held Tinkerbelle as they injected her and I stroked her head. Micky was not in the least concerned.”
Heather no longer tried to hide her emotions. Tears were streaming down her face. “Then we went down to the lounge. This was the unbearable moment I had been dreading and planning since my return two weeks earlier. I found it difficult to breathe and had to stop myself from grabbing Micky and running as far and as fast as I could. I had a soft winter sheet ready and Mrs. M’s favourite music played on the stereo, Rachmaninov’s Theme of Paganini, which she asked to be played at her own funeral. I sat on the couch and indicated to Micky to jump onto my lap, which she gladly did. With her cuddled in my arms and her head resting on my arm, Liz asked if she could go ahead. I was crying so bitterly, all I could do was nod. Liz could not find a vein and Micky struggled. I held her tight and tickled her tummy, which she loves as she got sleepy. I hugged and kissed her and Liz told her that she was a much loved dog. As she was dying Liz said to Micky, say hello to Mrs. M for us and kissed her. She then gave her the rest of the injection and little Micky went to sleep.”
Some time later I asked Heather what she felt the families of old folk should do to make their lives easier.
“Love them, visit them, call them and be as involved as you can, without taking over or allowing them to feel that they are loosing their independence. Let them stay in their own homes for as long as possible, until they die if this is do-able. You cannot love someone too much.”
AND YOU?
“How this has affected your outlook on death?” I asked with difficulty.
“I’m scared. I definitely do not want to be left to anyone’s mercy -- if I live to an age where I cannot do the essentials for myself. In a way I hope that dying is like having a general anaesthetic. In another way I hope that I can still see what my child is doing. Or maybe, it is just a forced time to rest, where you simply cannot see, feel or touch anything. Could there be anything more frustrating than not being able to do anything when you see events taking place around you? Maybe death is just a time to rest… forever.”
Sidebars:
Care-Workers receive:
· Full induction and statutory training.
· Plenty of work is available for suitable care-workers but you are required to be available for at least twelve weeks over a 12-month period – longer if possible.
· Good pay (£350 - £500 per week). Your fee is dependent on the level of care required.
· Live-in work - your accommodation and food is free.
Care-Workers need to be:
· Over 18.
· Fit and healthy.
· Kind, reliable, patient and honest.
· Allowed to work in the
· A driver’s licence is preferable (but not essential).
Care-worker agencies:
www.cyberconcepts.com/supacare
