My new job

MARIE: “Hello, my name is Marie and I’m a carer.” What’s in a name? The difference between ‘carer’ and ‘career’ is just one little ‘e’, but the connotations are worlds apart. Tellingly, the word ‘carer’ is one that my spell checker doesn’t even recognize – I suppose that software developed initially for business purposes wouldn’t need to include such an exotic term. But that’s my job now, to be a carer.

I’ve had my own business for the last ten years, working partly on commission and partly as a consultant and freelancer. That meant I was able to reduce my workload by degrees as Jon’s PD developed – letting go a client here, dropping an activity there, and reducing my hours (and income) as necessary. Very handy, but also a slippery slope that lead me, about six months ago, to a full stop with no paid work since.

We already knew that there is a system here in Denmark, similar to the carers’ allowance in the UK, by which a family member can be paid to provide the care that would otherwise have had to be provided by the health service. I have been joking for some time that that’s how I would end my working life, but I had not expected it to come so soon.

As Jon said in his last post, he has now been offered funding for personal assistance for 12 hours per week, and I have been employed (through the local authority) to provide that care. Many concerns went into making the decision.

It’s obviously a lot more convenient for Jon to have me do the caring. Then he doesn’t have to get up and dressed when some stranger says so, or go to bed when another stranger says so, or get undressed and showered in front of a parade of short-term carers and holiday temps, or rely for his drug regime on someone with little understanding of Parkinson’s, or be unable to go for his walk until someone is due to come round and help with his shoe laces. On the other hand, I expect he worries about becoming too reliant on me. What if I break a leg? Or, worse, what if I get annoyed and stomp off?

For my part, I don’t mind any of the actual tasks involved, but together they completely fragment my day. So although I only get paid for 1 hour and 39 minutes per day, there is no way I can fit paid work around this (trust me, I’ve tried). On the other hand, I can’t see myself enjoying a guilt-free day at the office in the knowledge that Jon is home alone almost the whole time, and relying on strangers the rest of the time. I dragged him along to Denmark, and I can’t now leave him surrounded by people he can’t properly communicate with.

So the best quality of life for both of us lies in me being the formal carer. It’ll make little practical difference, there’ll be a small but useful contribution to our finances, and I can continue to do my volunteer work for the Danish Parkinson’s Association for as long as possible. So I don’t actually mind, really. In a way it’s a relief to have that side of things sorted - it’s just that, well, I’d have preferred for it not to have become official quite so soon.