Scared, angry, inept – that’s me, the carer

As Ian Whitwham recovered from a stroke, his wife was diagnosed with cancer. In his new, reversed role, he charts the rollercoaster of her illness

I care. I’ve swapped roles with my wife and become a “carer”. When I had a stroke she was the “carer”. Now I have recovered, she has got cancer. It is my turn to do some “caring”. I suppose this must be the “until death us do part” stage of proceedings. I’m not sure I signed up for this bit – certainly not for this caring lark. I don’t want my role formalised in this way. It’s modern cant. Surely I’m only doing what a mate does. I don’t “care”. This has nothing to do with saintliness. I feel mostly rage, a savage impulse to howl at the moon.

Anyway, I’m lumbered. The hospital calls me a “carer” and I’ve got a little red card to prove it. “Chemotherapy Alert Card”, it also says.

I shake Jill alive in my now established caring manner: ‘Come on! Time for your radiation’

Continue reading... October 21, 2017 at 11:00AM