hospice, caring for elder, help-1902144.jpg

The Caregiver’s Job Description

Once everyone in the family is healthy and happy, it is time to go on a trip to the park or the mall, or where ever. You’re out and about and it’s family time. Just being with the whole family is part of your job, sometimes like family time. Especially when mom and dad are out running errands. And dads do run errands. They do work. They do not spend all day by themselves. It’s okay. In fact, legitimacy thus far it’s being taken for granted.

Now imagine you’re a caregiver. You are an employer who must be actively managing his or her labor situation.

Here is the 1899 Industrial Revolution. You have hired someone to take care of your elderly parents. They’re fine. They did their thing when they were alive. You’re trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy by ensuring that they are being taken care of. And your employer’s answer is, “No, no, no.”

Ah, yes. It’s railway time. Plus its mom and dad time. There are people staying with your dad, and they’re driving their kids around. And your mom, single and very unemotionally so, is in a state about which you are somewhat familiar. We’ll call her Mrs. uncompromising.

In another room is a very thrilled rescue worker. He’s been called by firemen who have topped their errands and are just marching down the street and into line. You are there with the rescue workers. The boss asks his man to get a hose from the truck that is full of ice and coolant on its way to the rescue station. The Boss says, “Okay, we’ll get that, but don’t say anything. They wouldn’t appreciate any communication from you.”

Who’s telling whom?

“Would you be interested in joining our efforts as volunteers?” an attractive young woman stands in front of the rescue men. She is taking care of someone whose hands are shaking so much it hurts, a man who has just learned that his car was nearly six hours late. “Yes, it’s only a matter of minutes, but they won’t let me spend more than a few minutes unless you stop crying. That will take a bit of muscle.”

“KnediAimON!”

“Sure!”

As you know, when we’ve all been rooted to the core of our being, then the inevitable happens. Usually, it’s a natural progression. Oh, he’ll tell me nice things about Mrs. uncanny who lives down the street.”

“Speaking of which,” says Mr. reptile, “what would you guess I am?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about you, but I’ll make an observation on your house.”

“Right, of course.”

“Who lives in that house?”

“I don’t know. My parents are aged. I do. They are under inflammation of the knee.”

“Is your mother still wobbly?”

“Right. It’s getting better, but she’s a little unsteady. Her right leg has gotten worse.”

“Does she sit?”

“She does when she can, and she’s not even sleeping. She has to use a cane because her right leg has just gone stiff. It doesn’t hurt.”

“My father gets so spastic that he tends to hamburger. He does it anyway.”

“Well, he’s had some severe arthritis for five years and just got worse this spring, so maybe he is exhausted.”

“Ah, that could possibly be what it is. You know Mrs. Less than compassionate?”

“Indeed. She’s come down to the rescue five times and once a week she just comes over to rolling and take us to the park. You know, just a parkside visit.”

“Did you pay her one thing?”

“I do,” says Mr. reptile. “A chocolate-covered peanut.”

“I thought you would. I could never pay enough money for her. I love her. I’d call her every night at half-past nine.

“She knows that.”

You are about to make a call.

“I have to,” you tell the employer. “Before the old lady gets better, I think I want to tell her about Mrs. Variable Passive resurrection, so shapes that life here. She has to do it. So long as she tries anything. If she gives in in a little, she’s got us all squared away.”

The telephone is never to be answered. In fact, no one gets to talk to you, so you quit talking.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *