I Couldn't Care Less: Flying Blind
Created | Updated Feb 9, 2014
Flying Blind
You remember that story I was going to tell you in the Post last week but didn’t? Well I thought I’d tell it this week, because even though it happened to me weeks ago now, that doesn’t really matter much to any of you. Its resonance is still real, I think, and it still poses genuine questions, not least for me.
I suppose everyone learns a different approach as a carer. What works for them, and of course, for the person, or persons, they are caring for. In my limited experience a lot of people suffering from physical health problems can be very stubborn in their refusal to be disabled. This is good, up to a point, of course. I imagine this is the mentality which underpins any paralympian who is even vaguely successful. Being disabled doesn’t make you useless or unable to contribute, and a simple reassessment of your capabilities can show you, and those around you, that you can manage by yourself, and even be useful to them.
The trouble for me is that my wife is one of these stubborn types. Learning how to respond to that has been a long, and probably still ongoing, road for me. One of the hardest things I had to learn was to allow my wife to make her own choices. Partly of course this is because I don’t always know best, but largely it is because she is still a person and still has the right to choose what she wants, right or wrong. Providing It’s legal. Now I guess the point of this little lesson for me is that I have learned, and am still learning, is how to offer support and help without being too pushy or suffocating. But I can’t help offering to pitch in if I can, it’s only manners, apart from anything else. Then my wife and I were invited to a birthday party for an elderly and partially sighted friend of ours.
She lives in one of those sort of semi-independent homes. I think it’s supposed to be warden controlled. She has her own flat, in a complex of flats with various communal facilities. Naturally, then, a lot of the other residents are also ageing, or partially sighted, or blind, or frail, or some or all of the above. I, on the other hand, am none of these things. My sight is just fine, I am in my 30’s, I am reasonable good condition, and I can carry stuff. Also, I was a guest, so I asked if there was anything I could do to help. Not only was there nothing I could do to help, but I was glowered at and told in no uncertain terms to sit over there and stop fussing.
Now our friend lost her husband a couple of years ago. She has very poor vision but is in reasonable shape for her age. She is also fiercely independent, and bristles at my attempts to help, unless it is in a specific scenario where she can boss me about. With my new found wisdom I demurely let her get on with running the show (for she is using the event as a fundraiser for the local blind society). So she sells raffle tickets and calls the bingo numbers and buzzes around talking to peoplel and I sit and watch. By the end of the whole evening she has thoroughly worn herself out, more than she should have done, I suspect, but is happy with the money she has managed to raise and, more than anything else, the fact that she has proved to all and sundry that she is still capable. One day, of course, she won’t be capable any more. I can only hope for her sake that she is ready to accept the day when it comes.
Do I have a moral this week? Better: I have two. To people in need of care I would offer the following advice. Some people just want to care for you, and they are learning how to do it, so be patient with them, and try hard to remember they don’t mean to make your life harder. Also: know when you are beaten, but keep fighting every day in the meantime to remind people that you’re not. To carers I would simply say- read what I said to the disabled people.
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