By Camilla Hewson Flintermann
Having been a caregiver for
twelve years for my husband, Peter, who died in June, 2001 of
Parkinson's disease, I have been very aware of the role I filled,
and the things I did
for him, especially as his disease
worsened. I have also at times encountered caregivers who resisted
the use of that title, and said in their case they felt they were
"care partners" with the ill person. I have been thinking about this
differentiation since Peter's death, as I am mostly alone
day-to-day, despite the loving attention of family and friends. The
term which has come to have special meaning for me is "
mutual
caregiving," for I realize now how he in so many ways, some of
them obvious, others very subtle, also took care of
me.
In the early years of Peter's illness, when he was only mildly
affected, he developed a ritual of rising before me, and bringing me
the morning paper and first cup of coffee in bed, where I was
usually accompanied by our cat. He did this lovingly for several
years, until getting up became harder for him, and his grip on the
coffee mug was becoming unsure. When he could no longer do it all
regularly, he would still do what he could manage, and I know that
it comforted him to continue taking care of me, as he had always
done in other ways throughout our more than fifty years of marriage.
His insistence that I learn how to handle the family finances, and
become educated about investments, his endless--sometimes
annoying--cautions about the pitfalls of managing things, was in
essence another way of caregiving, though at times I resisted it.
As time passed, the balance of care gradually shifted more to me and
with each small erosion of his ability to self-care, my caregiving
role increased. At times, he struggled to remain more independent,
and when this was safe and realistic, I was glad to encourage it. He
hated having to turn over more responsibility to me, worrying about
my "being worn down" by his limitations. We simplified our lives by
moving to a brand new retirement community, where help of many kinds
was built into the setting, and he felt good to know that when he
was no longer with me, I would be settled and have resources
available for my changing needs. His willingness to do this, despite
his belief that he would be in a nursing home before our unit was
even built, was another way he was caring for me.
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