Caregiving In The Name Of A Miracle

Note: The following post is meant to provide praise and validate the importance of caregivers who come with the patients receiving treatment. However, in no way is it meant to denigrate or be critical of those friends and family members who want to come, but due to their own circumstances such as job commitments, health reasons or family obligations, are unable to do so.

To those of you who are not here: You are the glue that gently holds together pieces of the beautiful lives we had to part with to do this, so when our missions here are complete, we have arms to run home to. You are irreplaceable motivation every day to push further, become stronger, and live bigger. Not even for a second, should you ever forget that.

Being in India for the second time in the midst of all of these new patients (I'm a veteran now!) has made me more aware than ever at the important, undeniable, heroic role of the caregivers here with patients; especially those here for the first treatment round. Each patient must come with one because even though the nurses and doctors are wonderful, there is nothing like the love of a mother/brother/husband/wife/friend/parent/partner/you-get-the-idea. It is actually a requirement for the treatment program and a wise one at that. Even the bravest fall apart under the circumstances and when you are sick or injured, emotions are high and tolerance can be low. It can be survived alone for sure, but the warm hug of someone to fall into when you really need it, is some mighty important medicine.

Blessed are the caregivers who sleep on a fold out mattress instead of their own cozy bed; swelter in the sticky heat outside just to search for the comfort foods of home; work from a laptop at odd hours in a totally different time zone just to make money to get here and be here; adapt to life without the assisted devices they are accustomed to (like handicapped bathrooms); smile along when things go well and cry too when things are tough; rarely complain because they want this as bad as their loved ones; make the best of everything and even manage to have some fun; relocate the pets for months at a time until they return; use a small counter and a lonely teapot as a full-service kitchen; laugh over the silly things when frustration is the first response; never give up; dry the tears when the days seem too long and hard; forgo Starbucks and happy hour for afternoon tea and melted evening ice cream from the market; get soaked in the fierce rain of Delhi; are there for first steps or first days of no pain; use the time to catch up on their reading when they have a million more productive things to do waiting at home; cheer in physio; brave the tuk-tuk rides that make them nauseous; peel and wash and disinfect the fruit to make sure the baby stem cells have enough nutrition; and embrace not only the hope of this incredible treatment, but the often rough and wild experience of an unfamiliar life with a person they hold so close, they could not imagine it any other way.

Miracles happen all the time here. The best seats are rightfully reserved for the cheerleaders that stand on the sidelines unwilling to let anyone tell them something different.

Permalink | 4 comments

Email this | Subscribe | Delicious | Digg | StumbleUpon | Facebook | Technorati

About Amy B. Scher

A passionate author, pioneering patient, and sassy spirit with just enough sweetness to get me by, I live by my self-created motto: when life kicks your ass, kick back.Amy B. Scher's profile Amy B. Scher's blog