Way back in the Dark Ages, Herself was deemed to be a semi-invalid.

This meant that I could be registered as her Carer. As such, I was paid a weekly allowance which wasn’t a fortune but it more than covered the cost of my baccy and whiskey. There is a nice irony in the the gubmint paying for my baccy even if it is out of my taxes? It also entitled Herself to have a health service carer for one hour a week.

Then along comes Cancer.

Now cancer is a real heavyweight when it comes to carers, entitlements and general help. I am still Herself’s Carer but I’m also entitled to a carer of my own. It gets a bit complicated here as Herself is entitled to more care as her carer [me] is also considered incapacitated and I too am entitled to a carer. As a result, the one hour a week has shot up to ten hours a week, to look after both of us.

Last Friday I made my escape from hospital and that evening I got my first taste of caring. A female arrived and with a lot of fuss and palaver she set to work doing little jobs like making us tea and doing the washing up. Carers basically take on the little chores like tidying, making sure we are eating enough and generally mothering us into submission. It’s quite a pleasant experience.

This morning when I got up there was another female fussing around the place making sure we were fed, watered and generally happy. She was loud and foreign [of indeterminate origin] and I confess she really brightened up the morning.

So this is the future. A carer will come for an hour at nine every morning to get us up and ready for the day. At seven the evening shift takes over and we have another hour of caring to make sure we have dinner and are ready for the night. At weekends we are left to our own devices.

Life has its compensations.