Being a Primary Caregiver

Before I begin this ‘rant’, ‘ramble’, etc. I feel that a disclaimer should be in place. This is not me complaining about being a caregiver, rather it is something that will hopefully spark others into thinking about those in this position. It is my place, my honor and my responsibility to care for my wife in this time of our lives.

When the diagnosis first came through, we were devastated. About six short years into retirement and our world was about to change. The plans we had made, the trips we had planned, the things on our bucket lists were suddenly not important. At that point I think we both didn’t even care about them anymore. Her health became the number one, if not the only motivating focus of our lives.

At that time there was an outpouring of concern for us. Cards, flowers, texts, calls, visits, food, and more flooded our lives. We were overwhelmed and humbled at the response. I appreciated it all. Fast forward a few months and she was doing somewhat ok, though concerns for how the treatments were affecting her filled our thoughts. 

About this time, the loneliness for me kicked in. I took her everywhere. Countless hours of sitting in doctor’s offices or in the car filled our weekday hours. A lifetime of sitting alone watching over her filled the nights and weekends. The contacts had all but stopped. We were on our own now in this.

The treatments worked and life began to return somewhat to normal. The toil it had all taken on her would never allow her to be herself again. But we began to rebuild. Everyone rejoiced with us. During this time, one person sat talking with me, asking about how I was doing. He went out of his way to honestly listen and then to schedule an outing to give me some time out. What a relief.

Six months later the disease returned and so back to the doctors and the treatments. The difference in it this time was as they say was “crickets”. The outreach and love we had experienced did not return. I’m sure that the love and concern still existed but for want of a better way of putting it, “we were yesterday’s news”.

We forget about the faceless identity of the person behind the scenes and their turmoil and pain. I have never in my life felt more alone, then since this all began. Long, long nights of her asleep and me sitting alone, watching her breathe. Some nights the anguish almost becomes too much. Human interaction, someone to talk to would be such a help during this time.

Roy Richard
June 2023