Sometimes having carers can go wrong. I know I’ve only had good things to say but occasionally in the past, but at times it has gone rather badly.
In my early days, fifteen years ago, getting carers, I had a few older ladies who were due a hip replacement. One woman would do her shift later in the day with me and I noticed she was always a bit grumpier on those days. I nailed it and we discussed, it turned out by the time she made it to me her morning pain meds had worn off. So, I suggested she take another one? She was fine. We stayed in contact for a while, even after she was no longer my carer. She’d bring me her ground coffee she didn’t love and created a blend with what I had and coped better with a coffee. Coffee always makes a shift pass easier.
Another lady I had around that also needed a hip replacement, she was really sweet. I still see this lovely lady out and about. One particular day, she had put a big bag of kitty litter on the front of the trolley underneath, it had a little hole in it. There we were trailing a litre of Clay kitty litter around the supermarket. My carer got down on her knees to fix the bag of litter and she couldn’t get up, I got down to help her. She was really embarrassed, but I don’t embarrass easily these days. I laughed. And then a staff member, who mistook our relationship, came to help us. He thought I was her carer. Right? Seriously, she was this lovely Indian woman who had been in Australia fifty years or so. She has a son my age. In her car she had all kinds of Catholic ‘stuff!’ Jesus! Rosary beads! Etc!
So, while out driving I taught her how to swear.
The word of choice, Fuck Knuckle!
I know. So wrong. I greet these women with hugs. So lovely.