My parent’s terminal cancer
Image credit: Sophie Buckley
Despite all that we now know about cancer nobody ever REALLY expects their loved one (be that a parent, their partner, or a child) to get a diagnosis of terminal cancer. When it occurs, we cling onto small bits of hope. Hope that the doctors made an error in their diagnosis, hope that the disease itself will take a different course, or even hope that somehow an existing therapy will miraculously render an unyielding disease impotent. For me it was a parent.
Lives change in an instant.
It isn’t just the lives of those who suffer from disease that change. That is a given. The lives of those caring for a loved change too. You officially become a carer. A role that no one is ever really prepared for—a role that no one is truly trained for, and role that is utterly demoralising. The frank reality is, that caring is bloody hard.
The effects of those caring for such a loved one are frequently misunderstood, overlooked, and belittled. As a medic myself, I can vouch for the many times that I too, have overlooked the burden on the significant others of the patient I am treating. It makes things easier to deal with at work, to lighten the mental load, and to put the patient front and centre of what we are trying to achieve—though this doesn’t mitigate what the family….me, I too, am going through.
“The effects of those caring for such a loved one are frequently misunderstood, overlooked, and belittled”
One of the lesser expected effects has been the impact on being able to meet people, to share experiences with and to have some semblance of a “normal” life—whatever that may mean(?!). People talk about wanting to live their lives in phases. When I was younger I thought of a linear pathway…med school now, training here…?married here….kids now….retirement then. It was all planned perfectly in my head, free from the realities of the brutally harsh world. Little did I know that life (lives) rarely meet and follow this idealised path.
“Meeting people is (and has been) infinitely more difficult. The combined roles of carer at home, and caregiver outside of home leave little time to explore and to meet the right person.”
Meeting people is (and has been) infinitely more difficult. The combined roles of carer at home, and caregiver outside of home leave little time to explore and to meet the right person. Even then is the fear that when (if) I do meet the right person, I won’t be able to devote to them the time they deserve, and things will fall apart. It sucks, and even with an active social network, friends and family—there is little time or headspace to meet people and date them.
It may be a small thing, but the effects of being a carer are numerous, far reaching, and more severe it may seem on the face of it. As a healthcare professional, this is a harsh reminder of the need for compassion in all that we do, not just with our patients, but with everyone associated with them.