- Small pleasures lift us these days since Charlie became virtually housebound
- I knew I would want him by me, at our home in which we raised our family
- As a new mum deals intuitively with a baby, I discovered a capacity for care
- There is even a delight in caring so intimately for someone you love
By
Tricia Gannaway
17:58 EST, 16 April 2013
|
11:55 EST, 17 April 2013
My favourite time of day is mid- morning, when my husband Charlie and I sit in our conservatory, drinking coffee. Even in this bleak spring there is colour in the garden to cheer us: we look out on daffodils, clumps of hellebore, primulas and flaming red tulips.
The garden is inside, too, in the form of summer’s geraniums, already in scarlet bloom, which I potted and stored, against the frost, along with trays of plugs on the inside window sills.
Such small pleasures lift us these days since Charlie, 80, my husband of 50 years, became virtually housebound a year ago, and I, at 71, his full-time carer.
Happily married: Charlie and Tricia Gannaway outside the church on their wedding day 50 years ago
For a few anxious months last year, I feared I would lose him and doctors told me to prepare for the worst. He had heart and liver failure and, it seemed, the rest of the organs were also closing down.
He did not eat. He existed in a state of semi-consciousness. The time passed in a blur; doctors and nurses came and went and for a while it seemed as if his poor, tired heart was just too weary to work any more.
But something — a spark of tenacity; a stubborn spirit, perhaps — made him rally, and little by little he improved. And during that time, as I rejoiced in each tiny upturn in his health, I knew that, ill as he was, I could never bear to dispatch him to a nursing home.
I knew I would want to have him by me, at our home in Horsham, West Sussex, in which we raised our family, and care for him myself. In short, I wanted to honour the vows I had taken on my wedding day, to love him in sickness and health.
I did not quite know where I would find the strength; or indeed, the aptitude, to look after him. I had no nursing skills. When our children, Rosie, now 49, John, 48, and Claire, 46, went to school, I’d returned to a career as a secretary.
Devoted couple: Charlie, 80, and his wife Tricia Gannaway, 71, who cares for her husband at home
I feared, too, I would be too
squeamish to carry out the daily tasks — some highly personal; many
requiring endless patience or skills I was afraid I did not have — that
Charlie could no longer accomplish himself.
But a surprising strength and competence came over me. Just as a new mum deals intuitively with the needs of her baby, I discovered a capacity for care I didn’t know I possessed.
And actually, the menial tasks — the blanket baths, the washing and feeding — I did for Charlie in the first weeks of his recuperation were uplifting. I found that there was no loss of dignity on either part.
On the contrary, there is even a delight in caring so intimately for someone you love and once I realised nothing fazed me, everything became much easier.
In the early days of his illness, Charlie could not feed himself so I pureed tiny meals of easily digested food and fed him bird-size mouthfuls.
The process was slow and painstaking, and I understood why hard-pressed nurses in geriatric wards often failed to find time to feed their elderly patients, who then died of starvation or dehydration.
This realisation also strengthened my resolve never to leave Charlie’s side. Of course, I was supremely grateful to the district nurses who called regularly when he was first ill, and I watched them and picked up tips from them.
I learned how to apply cream to Charlie’s poor, ulcerated legs and how to dress them. I discovered there is a knack to giving blanket baths and I learned about his daily medication and how I should administer it.
And as time went on and Charlie’s condition improved, I realised I could dispense with the visits from professional carers — except in emergencies — and take over the role myself.
I did not, for a second, resent the encroachment on my freedom; neither was I irked by Charlie’s dependence. For the fact is, I would far rather be his constant companion and carer than not have him at all.
So this is why, today, I celebrate my role as my husband’s carer and even find happiness in it.
Great jubilation: ‘He followed the England vs New Zealand test match through the night on the television’
Charlie’s heart condition remains
perilous. We do not know quite how long he has got. He suffers cruelly
from water retention and his body is bloated by it: sometimes liquid
even seeps from the cracks in his legs, which can blister painfully.
He
walks unsteadily and can manage only a few steps unaided. My greatest
fear is that he will fall, so I do not leave him alone for more than an
hour.
He is kept alive and comfortable with a cocktail of drugs: diuretics, antibiotics, steroids and liquid morphine, which he has at night.
But the wonder is, he remains at heart exactly the same man he always was. His mind is still sharp, he enjoys conversation; laughter and our daily chats sustain us. And he is still as passionate about sport as he was as a young man — only now, of course, he is an armchair sportsman.
He follows the progress of Charlton Athletic, the football team he has supported since his youth, with all the fervour of the most committed fan. I know when they’ve lost because I hear anguished cries from his bedroom as he watches the match on television. And when they win there is great jubilation.
Home sweet home: The Gannaways live together in the house where they raised their family in Horsham, West Sussex
So, too, with cricket. The other
week, when the England team seemed doomed to lose a Test match against
New Zealand, he followed the action on the TV in his bedroom right
through the night.
The next morning, when I went to rouse him as I always do at 7am, his face, even in sleep, was suffused with a smile.Â
‘England fought back; we drew,’ he beamed on waking. Charlie has lost none of his mental acuity and both of us count this a huge blessing. He is a repository of sporting knowledge, which he shares with our eldest grandson, 19 years old and also called Charlie.
When I witness their pleasure as they watch a football match on television together, and chunter over the referee’s decisions, it lifts my heart. There is still much happiness to be derived from even the most restricted of lives.
I have done, too, what I can to make Charlie’s remaining years comfortable. We’ve installed a stair-lift so he can enjoy time with me downstairs. He has a reclining armchair; a bed that also becomes a chair if he wants to sit up; and, most recently, a mobility scooter so we can go on little outings into town when the weather is warmer.
He tires quickly, but when the summer comes we will go to our beach hut in Goring-by-Sea and sit, tranquilly watching the waves. So we have much to celebrate, and even things to look forward to, and we try not to dwell on the fact that Charlie’s capacities are diminishing.
He sleeps a lot now and when he has his afternoon nap, I lose myself in my garden. Pruning and weeding, digging and hoeing: the gentle rhythms of such toil are therapeutic. I love the calm pleasure of knitting, too.
And often I think back, not with resentment that the good times have passed, but with bitter- sweet wistfulness, to the early days of our marriage, when we lived in Plumstead, South London, and Charlie worked as an industrial photographer.
We’d met at a church social club; Charlie — popular, engaging and sporty — asked me out and within 18 months we were engaged. Three years later, we were married: we had a traditional Catholic nuptial mass but I didn’t want to fritter away our money on finery.
So, against convention, I wore a suit rather than a white bridal gown. We didn’t have any bridesmaids. And the money we saved helped to buy the three-bedroom Edwardian home in which we began our marriage.
Football lover: Charlie continues to follow Charlton Athletic with ‘all the fervour of the most committed fan’
We moved, in 1969, to Ireland with
Charlie’s job for two years, and finally settled in 1971 in Horsham. And
our marriage — as all too few do these days — endured.
Nobody knows, of course, when health
will fail them, and the first intimation that all was not well with
Charlie came when he was 67 and he suffered a stroke. I remember even
now, the fear in his eyes as his balance went and he dragged one leg,
numb and lifeless, behind him. I burst into tears.
He walked, thereafter, with a limp; but other than that, he recovered well. And though our days of rambling in the countryside were over, our lives, in every other way, continued pleasantly; until, that is, last February when Charlie’s health collapsed catastrophically.
So today our joys are curtailed, but also, in a way, they are intensified. We value small things, and each day we make the best of what is left to us.
I’m grateful for my vigour and health; also for the fact I am almost ten years younger than Charlie and have the strength to look after him. I’m pleased that I manage well.
And we maintain standards, as we always have. Each day I set out a clean cashmere jersey — grey or navy — for Charlie to wear with his denim shirt and trousers. He shaves in bed with an electric razor our daughter Claire bought him for Christmas; he is able to wash himself, but I help, because he cannot bend to reach his legs and feet.
And I cut his hair now — it is another of the new skills I’ve acquired. So he looks smart and cared-for as he faces the day.
Every day, too, I put on make-up. And Charlie never fails to appreciate that I have taken the trouble. ‘You look lovely today,’ he says with his old twinkle.
It is one of the many moments I enjoy. In fact, it lifts my heart.
Interview by FRANCES HARDY.
Lid of Boston Marathon pressure cooker bomb was found on…
Obama administration has SLASHED budget for domestic bombing…
Revealed: The woman who became symbol of bomb blast horror…
Britain bids farewell to Baroness Thatcher: After stunning…- BREAKING NEWS: FBI arrest suspect in hunt for Boston bomber…
Boston marathon bombs were pressure cooker IEDs packed with…
Tragedy of woman, 18, in iconic Boston blast image being…
Father whose son lost both legs only knew he was hurt when…
Driving to work now costs $9,100 a year as insurance and…
Caught on runner’s head cam: The horrific moment of second…
Thatcher family are comforted by the Queen on the steps of…
‘He’s a witness not a suspect’: Burned Saudi student who had…
this article:
The comments below have not been moderated.
-
Newest -
Oldest -
Best rated -
Worst rated
I take my 135 down arrows gladly. You can tell by the comments the people who have been through the emotional wringer of years of caring for an elderly parent or spouse, and those who haven’t. Those of us who have are giving caveats (much more kindly worded than mine) and those who have not think it is a lovely story. To those of you about to go through it: It’s okay to put your loved one in a home. You do NOT have to destroy your own health out of a misplaced sense of responsibility.
therealpixie
,
Raleigh,
17/4/2013 18:32
Report abuse
I hope she can continue to look after him like this. My Mother looked after my Father at home when he suffered from dementia, but his illness took over and he had to be taken into care as my Mum’s health was beginning to suffer too. Such a shame but I am proud at the care she gave him nonetheless.
Judie
,
London,
17/4/2013 17:13
Report abuse
I think she should be proud of herself. I hope I will find the strength to do the same if the situation should ever arise, a possibility as I arried an older man. he takes care of me now and if need be I will take care of him in the future.
SS
,
Scotland,
17/4/2013 16:59
Report abuse
My dad cared for my mum for years and he eventually ended up in hospital because of it,be a carer or a spouse,you can’t be both as my dad proved.
lindy
,
Colchester,
17/4/2013 16:40
Report abuse
This is what the marriage vow means.
fionaebell
,
cornwall,
17/4/2013 16:30
Report abuse
The real pixie, I think you need to go and see a psychiatrist, or maybe the men in white coats can come and pick you up!! Jeez you are very strange!
rio cha cha
,
Middlesbrough,
17/4/2013 16:25
Report abuse
How inspiring and lovely a life the Gannaway’s had/have. He’s retained his mental acuity so they are able to chat and interact with each other and their family. Comments by “therealpixie†are deplorable and so full of anger and hate.
dbg
,
pjsny,
17/4/2013 16:24
Report abuse
For all those who red starred me yesterday, when I commented that who was a doctor to decide whether or not to resuss elderly patients, tell that to this lady and her husband. Just because people are elderly and frail, mentally they may be just as lively as they ever were and just because their body is failing, for whatever reason, they should not be treated as if their lives are worthless just because they are elderly.
boxerdog owner
,
ilkeston,
17/4/2013 16:21
Report abuse
She is still beautiful.
SunnyHunnyboo-boo
,
Washington DC, United States,
17/4/2013 15:34
Report abuse
The fact that his mind is as sharp as ever is key here. She is still caring for the same person who still recognises her and cares for her too. So so much harder when this isnt the case.
Sue
,
London,
17/4/2013 15:08
Report abuse
The views expressed in the contents above are those of our users and do not necessarily reflect the views of MailOnline.
