The Silent Heroes

Yesterday was Aarav’s day at hydrotherapy. We usually have a few minutes break between his physiotherapy and hydro session, in which I hand him the phone and allow him to relax his mind by watching his favourite cartoons. While we were waiting for his session to start, a mother-daughter duo entered. The daughter looked in her 40s while the mom was around 60 but in a wheelchair.

As a parent to a child who is also often in a wheelchair, I have learned never to ask the question, “What happened?” unless the information is freely volunteered. So, while observing the dynamics between these two people, I kept silent. The daughter was stressed and the mom even more so. As the attendant checked her blood pressure to determine whether she was fit to undergo a hydrotherapy session, the daughter was visibly tense. Something that was reflected in her mom’s high BP. The attendant told her to take a few minutes and relax before it was measured again.

As the lady sat down and tried to take deep breaths, I heard her daughter snap at her and say, "I told you to take the BP medicine earlier. Why didn’t you?" The mother kept silent, probably realizing that anything she said at that time would be misconstrued.

Now, the majority of you would be in full sympathy with the mom, thinking that as the person who is undergoing therapy, she deserves sympathy. But, strangely enough, the person I felt bad for, was the daughter.

We all talk about the person who needs care but we seldom talk about the caregivers. These are those people who have willingly given up their time, their life, and even bits of themselves to ensure that the quality of life of those dependent on them improves. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, brothers, and sisters; I see them all in my time at the clinic. Their eyes hold a certain sense of inevitability, a sense that this is where they are meant to be, even if it’s not where they want to be. It echoes the sentiments I carry in my heart.

We caregivers need to harden our hearts and dish out tough love, often becoming the villains in the lives of the very people we are providing care for. We push, we cajole, we threaten and we incentivize, moving beyond the realms of what is acceptable, our sole purpose being a productive session.

I wonder if anyone thinks about the toll all of this takes on a primary caregiver? The burden of responsibility has always held a certain weight but never more so than when it’s for someone who can’t take care of themselves. It’s not a badge that we wear with pride; it’s a crown that we hold with a certain sense of resignation. You may argue that the rewards are ours but do remember that they are few and far in between.

As I caught the eye of the daughter, I saw a certain defiance in her expression. She expected to see censure in my gaze for the way she had spoken to her mother, instead, she found empathy. And so, I wasn’t surprised to see her eyes fill with tears because I know exactly what it feels like when someone tells me that I am doing a tough but good job.

There is no doubt that the ones fighting the battles are the superheroes, but the ones who stand in the shadows helping them soldier on are no less.