I Wear the Trousers… But he has To Help Me Put Them On.

I didn’t write this post, it was written by my husband. Seeing how much I struggle with everyday life now he did what he does best, reassurance. It’s difficult watching someone have to care for you, but this is a post from the other side, the carer/husbands point of view.
I am Simon. Emma is my wife. As well as being her husband, lover, friend, and general go-to-guy, I am also her full-time carer. I’m definitely no blogger, so please bare that in mind as you read through my patchwork of thoughts on the subject. This isn’t a how-to, or tips sheet for those that care. It is more of a reassurance for those that are cared for.

Firstly, I don’t want to say that ‘it’s all on you’ that ‘you are the only one who knows how it feels’ with any illness that requires a high level of care. Trust me, we know how you feel. We may not be able to feel what you feel but we do know. And, in many cases, it can tear us apart watching the people we love being beaten down by the pain. We see on a day-to-day basis the changes that take place in your movement, your mental state, and your overall personality. We see those things, we feel those things, we live those things alongside you. The pain is different, but we feel it.

I have become used to my life now. I am used to having to help my wife undertake day-to-day tasks, ones that only a few years ago I wouldn’t even notice she was doing. I have become used to putting her to bed, partly because she is knackered, and partly to stop her hurting herself. I listen, admittedly a little frustrated at times, as she tries to remember the sentence she started, and trailed off on, only a few seconds ago. I move the things back to where they need to be when she has been in the kitchen. I put out the items she sets on fire when she tries to cook. I carry the shopping. I am, at times, her crutch. I move the furniture. I cook nearly all the dinners. But you know what, I’m writing this with a smile on my face. This isn’t a moan, or a rant, or even a ‘poor me’ piece. I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

I don’t mean the illness. As far as I’m concerned, Lupus, and all of it’s little friends, can go fuck itself.

What I want to say, to my wife (and everyone who needs caring for through no fault of their own), is no, you are not a burden. You are not a chore. You might be a pain in the arse at times, but you are never a let down. I don’t regret one moment with my wife. Lupus may have robbed us of some fun, it may have stolen some of her independence, but it hasn’t touched how much I love her and WANT to take care of her.

I want to be the one who carries the shopping, cooks the food, puts out your fires. I might sigh at times, but I’m not angry at you. I might roll my eyes, but I never doubt you. I may look impatient, but I can wait. I may walk too fast, but I’ll slow down. You never need to doubt me, or my feelings.

And I know for sure that any other person being cared for by someone who loves you, they feel the same. We may falter at times, but never think it is because of you. Maybe your illness, but it’s never you. Next time you think you are being a nuisance to the person that cares for you, just remember, we’re still here. We never went anywhere, and we don’t intend on it anytime soon. We’ve been together for 21 years and our love and laughter is stronger than it ever has been, even after 10 years of Lupus etc.

I love my wife, I hope she posts this. I want her to understand that I care because I care.

Thanks for Reading.


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