What I Learned My First Week as A Caregiver
The five days that made me reconsider my career path.
The nuance of this piece is finding a way to share openly without disclosing all of my grandmother’s business.
When my mother and her siblings approached me with the simple ask of assisting my grandmother throughout the day, my response was immediate: “Of course.” A caregiver is described as a family member or paid assistant who regularly takes care of a child, or someone who is sick, elderly, or disabled. This was not the first time I was asked to care for a matriarch. In the past, my fear of not being qualified halted me when my paternal grandmother was ill. Although I hold healthcare certifications from my time working in the education system, I have no professional training to be a home health aide. Ultimately, I didn’t want to cause any additional harm. This time, just a little over a year later, I was confident in my abilities to nurture and do what I do best: adapt and contribute.
I walked through the door on my first day and delivered my normal greeting: “Hi, Mom!” Mom is pronounced with an accent, so it should sound like “Mum,” but her foreign-born, Yankee grandchildren, blending two accents, have turned it into “MOHM” with a long “O” sound. “Hi, Reese! You’ve come to babysit me,” she joked. I’ve learned to discern when jokes come from a place of anguish, so I replied, “No, just to spend some time with you!”
My 89-year-old grandmother quickly made it known that she is not incapable of doing things on her own. As an elderly, West Indian woman, her tongue is sharp and unfiltered; therefore, I’ll spare you the choice words she used. Although she isn’t ill—praise God—she is in a lot of pain. Like most older adults, her body is tired. It has borne seven children, immigrated to the United States, adapted to the unpredictable city of New York, and labored as a seamstress and nurse. Even through her deep groans, she prefers to shuffle throughout the house on her own. The number of times she has told me to “relax” this week—I should be at a Sandals resort.
By the third day, she too had relaxed. She and her new reclining chair had become close friends. While Whoopi Goldberg or Eyewitness News blared in the living room, I was now allowed to make her breakfast. I learned to pour her coffee until it was just shy of overflowing. “I like my coffee hot hot.” Yes, also, if it is cold or tepid, it is no longer coffee—it’s milk. “Alright, I’m all set,” she said, as I placed her warm breakfast, hot coffee, and chilled coconut water on her tray table. Translation: “Alright, you don’t need to ask if I want lunch until after Beyond the Gates.”
Fun fact about me: I’ve been an auntie my whole life. Not someone who has an “auntie vibe,” an actual my-older-siblings-have-kids auntie. I’ve been called Auntie Reesee since I was a child. I love it! I’m an active member in the parenting village, which also means I’ve experienced my fair share of changing diapers and potty-training toddlers. However, this week, I learned how to change my first commode. Enough said. Back to her daily “stories.”
Soap operas became a pivotal fixture of daytime television in America since the 1950s. Mom has had a standing appointment with the television from noon to four, for as long as I can remember. Whether she had to tape them on VHS or set the DVR to record, her “stories” have always been a staple in her routine. So much so, a few of my cousins were also hooked by middle school. Racing home to catch the melodrama on SoapNet. I was and am out of the loop, but I have been caught up to speed. I am now acquainted with who adopted whom, how familiar relationships began, why someone is in the hospital, and the politics of fictional worlds.
Mom and I spent a lot of time discussing how Luna from The Bold and the Beautiful should be hospitalized and evaluated. Yet, my main concern was how Sonny Corinthos is still alive and aging like a vino on General Hospital. The character was introduced in 1993! But we know the writers of General Hospital find joy in resurrecting characters like Lazarus, because I’m pretty sure Jason died in 1999, multiple times. He, too, is STILL on the show. While the production value makes me physically uncomfortable, I applaud soaps for providing new and seasoned actors with consistent work and longevity.
As Friday came to a close, Mom and I were fully comfortable in our new roles. My greatest lesson was learning to differentiate her groans, those of pain, irritability, or spirit. We’ve incorporated moderate movement, massages, and a nap into her routine. To ensure she looked her best, I took down her braids and carefully detangled her silver strands, preparing her for a fresh style.
In just a week, my patience and persistence were constant reminders that her children and grandchildren appreciate her and care about her well-being. Each day, in her laughs and words, she assured me that I’m a “good nurse.”
I welcomed the compliment, but all I could say was, “I learned from the best.”