GladToCare Awareness Week poetry challenge 6th-12th July. Join Gaynor Kane, Ailsa Cawley, Samantha Terrell, Graham Bibby, Mary Druce, sonja benskin mesher, Yvonne Moura and myself. Let’s celebrate, notice the often unappreciated work of carers, both at home and in carehomes. Please email your poems to me. Monday: Home Carers, Tuesday: Care Homes Wednesday: How Do I Want To Be Cared For, Or Not Thursday: How I Care? Friday: Saturday: ‘A day in the life of a loved one in a care home’ Sunday: Why Do We Care? Here are today’s: Saturday ‘A day in the life of a loved one in a care home, or a carer’

I Am A Living Library by Kate

-Kate

Waking the Dead 

Going up or down
left or right
there is only corridor,
in slippers
and dressing gown
she takes her daily stroll,
everyone a friend
everyone a stranger

doctors, nurses, social workers
discuss her life
while she is living it,
breakfast at seven
lunch at twelve
dinner at five
bed-pans, sheets changed,
television repeats

she prefers a slow walk –
through windows
she watches
trees empty their leaves
cars empty their visitors
word searching
like a flick of channels.
Perhaps she screams.

Now there are no screams.

-Eileen Carney Hulme

A day in the life of a carer.

I have my list of people today. I’ve got an hour or an hour and a half with everyone. I have buses to catch to every appointment and it’s always a rush between leaving and the next bus.
I love visiting these people. Everyone has different things they need, opinions, hopes and dreams. Sometimes, if I’ve got extra time, and no next person for a good while, I’ll stop over. It’s a chance to talk and for them to see they’re not just a number.

This day I stop. There’s been an accident. A lady is on the floor. No way I can lift her. Her husband is just home from hospital. I call an ambulance. Because she isn’t physically hurt, but can’t get up they’ll arrive as soon as possible as there’s been an emergency. I’m asked to wait. I don’t consider leaving an option. The company I worked for say to leave and let them deal with it. I refuse. They say that they won’t pay me for the shift if I stay. I stay. What sort of carer would I be to walk away? In the end my hour becomes three and a half. All unpaid. A paramedic car is there first, then we’re to wait for an ambulance. It’s been a crazy day.
But, if it were my parents would I want them left, frightened and uncared for? I’d like to hope that someone else would stay because it’s what carers do. They care. Beyond the money aspect. We just care.

AilsaCawleyPoetry2020

A Grey Haired Figure

-Jim

aide

a cigarette
won’t change
anything, lucy

it won’t dry your eyes
or bring back those
you can’t misunderstand
anymore
or pretend again they are
more than less

your break is done
so take one long drag
hold it under your skin
under the layer
of another goodbye

-Elizabeth Moura

Handy by Richard Wari9ng

-Richard Waring

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