July 3, 2008: why caring makes you truly human

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Carer Diary

July 3, 2008: why caring makes you truly human

Marianne Talbot reflects on 12 years of caring for her parents and why even now she is reluctant to give up the title of 'carer'

Last night I went to a party in London. I just went. I didn’t worry about what time I’d get back. I didn’t book carers, nor did I make sure mum’s supper was prepared, her bed changed, or anything else at all.

I had a great time.

But twice I found myself saying: ‘…and I look after my mum who has advanced Alzheimer’s’. Even as I uttered the words, I wondered why.

Of course I am still a carer – that mum is currently with my brother and will soon go into a home doesn’t mean I am not a carer. I am still responsible for liaising with social services, finances and, no doubt, visiting. (I dread the visiting.) It’s too soon to think my caring days are over.

But I no longer have ‘hands-on’ responsibility. I don’t brush mum’s teeth, change her pads, do her washing, deal with her moods... The really important part of being a carer is over.

So why am I still claiming to be a carer?

Perhaps I’m not yet out of the habit?

Habit? Is that the right word? I have cared for my parents for 12 years: my whole identity is shot through with being a carer. How can I stop thinking of myself as a carer just like that?

I didn’t think of myself as a carer at all until mum came to live with me. This is strange: caring from a distance can be worse than the hands-on stuff. I now know I was in that twilight world every carer goes through before they realise that there is help out there.

If the government is to change carers’ lot, it must get across to carers – and others – just who is a carer and why they are important.

Yet the thing I hear most is that carers save the economy £87 billion a year.

Is this why carers are important? I don’t think so.

Forget the economy. Carers are important because they look after those whom society would, I think, prefer to forget. Our society simply can’t deal with the halt and the lame, the demented or the frail. We are far too busy securing bonuses to make a carer’s eyes water, buying handbags at £500 a pop, building cars that go faster than any speed limit, and celebrating anyone who gets on TV.

Such activities may be fun but, compared to the activities of a carer, they are, in my opinion, utterly meaningless.

In making my lovely mum’s life meaningful, I was contributing to the meaning of my own life. To be a carer is, in my opinion, to be truly human.

No wonder I am reluctant to give up the title.

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