My Calling

A couple years ago I had the good fortune to stumble into caregiving.  I provide companion care (and sometimes personal care) to elderly women.  Most of my ladies are in their mid-80’s to mid-90’s.  They’ve seen some things!  I’ve worked with women who’ve worked their whole lives, women who’ve had the great opportunity to travel the world, women who were stay at home moms, women who have lived.  Women from every background imaginable.  Fascinating women.

That being said, I had no experience and very little training when I started.  I had much anxiety, still do with new clients, about how I will handle incontinence issues, bathing issues and dressing issues.  There are many things we relinquish as we age, modesty can be the first to go.  This is usually not a huge step for women, especially women who’ve had babies.  But it is a step. 

I help my ladies get dressed, right down to their unders.  I help them use the bathroom.  I help them bathe.  This can be uncomfortable for both sides.  Intimacy develops quickly in a caregiving environment.  These women entrust themselves to me.  The first time I bathed a woman I was a bundle of nerves.  I wasn’t sure how comfortable she’d be undressing in front of me or of her usual routine.  I was so self-conscious.  I knelt by the side of the tube and gently washed Linda’s feet and legs.  I was humbled, consumed with tenderness.  This woman who hardly knew me would allow this intimacy between us.  I continued to bathe her crippled body, across her hunched back and freckled arms.  Her thin hair, still black and silky.  We finished her bath and helped her back into bed.  I knew this was my calling. 

I have met many interesting ladies in my caregiving adventures.  One woman had been a fishmonger on Long Island.  Ruth is a New Yorker through and through.  The agency had trouble finding a caregiver that she liked or that like her.  I love her.  She speaks brusquely and frankly, things that can be off-putting to modern (read young) caregivers.  We work well together.  I help her around the house, with appointments, errands and the like.  Ruth is a very independent and single-minded old world Italian grandma.  She has asthma.  Some days she has coughing fits that make it nearly impossible for her to draw a breath.  I stand quietly at her side as she gasps and sputters, with my arm around her, calming her simply with my presence.  These fits terrify her.  They terrify me!  Once she recovers we sit quietly until she can push back her fear. 

Another woman lives in a quiet house and a heavily treed street.  Every day Helen dresses beautifully, does her make-up and hair.  She always looks ready to go!  She loves to take care of her garden, lush and abloom with bright pink and orange flowers.  I helped her water her backyard and keep up with household chores.  One quiet morning, in a low, quavering voice, Helen explained that her son had brain cancer and had just been told he was terminal.  Distraught she looked into my eyes, searching.  Tentatively I put my arms around her shoulders, she’s not a hugger.  On this day she clung to me.  Her frail body shook, consumed in grief.  Heartbreaking.  “There always our children, you know,” she whispered, wiping her nose.  I cried with her for her son, for my own children. 

I have been blessed to meet my ladies.  Blessed to hear so many fascinating stories.  Blessed to be able to offer some level of comfort, reassurance and solace.    I found my calling.