Welcome to Purgatory...

If anyone ever wanted to know what it is like to live in purgatory, like a shot I would have to advise them not to do what I agreed to do. And here is why. I would never, ever recommend anyone (or his or her brother, or dog, or cat) to agree to take care of a relative, a neighbour or especially a spouse if they became ill or disabled and dependant on you.

I know this from absolute experience and I am currently living in hellish times. Don't be fobbed off by that 'think of the rewards' nonsense. There are no rewards, just endless tasks of cooking, feeding, toileting, washing, dressing, trying to deal with outside 'help' (or even getting it), clearing up spilt food, spilt drink, little (and not so little) 'accidents'. They happen with rapid frequency the older you — and your forced-on-you patient — become.

Worst of all, carer duties for someone you are attached to, like a spouse, a sibling or a parent, comes without recompense — that's without any kind of payment as soon as you hit state pension age and only a very small taxable carer's allowance up until then which you have to apply for and that many carers don't qualify for. The rest you do for free, saving the government billions of pounds per year into the 'bargain'.

My wife gets a blue badge for disabled car parking. I say 'gets' but she has to pay a tenner a go for the 'privilege' of what the uninitiated able-bodied people think of as 'free' parking. The scheme is actually to allow convenience to park nearer to shops, nearer to supermarket entrances, nearer to the doctor's surgery or even nearer to hospital buildings. But then you get brainless idiots who park in those disabled bays when they don't have a blue badge because they see themselves and their vehicles as 'privileged'. If, like me, you have to be a chauffeur to your patient (for want of a better description) and thus use the blue badge when she is in the car, you have to deal with such confrontational matters virtually on a daily basis. And that can be a ride on the road to hell on its own. One of my most favourite all-time songs is 'Road To Hell' by Chris Rea. I never knew why back in the 1980s when the song hit number 10 in the UK charts but now I do.

And then there's the 'respite' aspect of caring. Sorry to burst that bubble but, in my experience, 'respite' is a word made up by the authorities to make carers like me falsely believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Indeed, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's the lights of a bloody great express train coming towards you. In the fifteen years I have been a full time carer for my disabled wife, we have not once had a holiday; moreover, not once have I been given the opportunity to spend any time away from my wife and carer duties on a 'respite' break. Because 'respite' is a figment of the imagination.

If after what I have said you still want to go ahead and tie your life up by taking on the carer's role for 'whoever', that's your judgment call. Just don't tell everybody afterwards that they should have talked you out of it. I have already tried to do just that, during this article. By the way, during your period of caring, forget about friends, forget about family and forget about 'friendly neighbours'. They all disappear in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. I promise you, that will happen.