The line between partner and carer

I don’t get to spend as much time with Evan as either of us would like, but in the moments we get I feel the line blurring between partner and caretaker. That’s not a complaint. I love this man with my whole heart and I’d gladly spend every second of every day looking after him if it meant that we got to be together. He is, very much, my whole world. Honestly, I’m still a bit baffled that it’s me he chose to spend his life with. But as current circumstances dictate, our relationship is changing.

At the moment, Evan is recovering from major surgery that removed the majority of a malignant tumour from his brain. As you might imagine, he is currently not at his best. Additionally, he managed to fracture both his shoulders in a seizure, which is not only impressive, but also very inconvenient. Things that were once easy now come with added difficulty and pain. He suddenly needs help with mundane things most of us would do without a second thought.

And I don’t mind at all.

I know he sees himself as a bit of a burden now. I’ve never really been good at social cues but I think I’ve figured that out. It’s why he won’t stop thanking me for doing things that definitely don’t need thanks. It’s why he makes self-deprecating jokes about his dribbling. And it’s why he keeps pushing me away even though it’s breaking my heart.

So, I guess this is for you Evan, though I know you’ll never read it.

Dressing is a chore now. Sometimes you can’t reach into the cupboard to grab your socks, sometimes you struggle to put a t-shirt on, and sometimes you can’t balance while stepping into your pants. It just means we get to laugh when you repeatedly put something on back to front or inside out. Getting dressed is overrated anyway.

It’s hard to reach things and carry them around. Don’t worry, I can be your arms and legs for a while. I spend too much time sat on my arse anyway and besides, this makes up for all those times I’ve kicked you out of bed to make you bring me water in the middle of the night.

You’re having trouble putting together the Lego kit my mum bought you. I’m happy to find the little pieces you can’t seem to register, unstick the blocks when you put them in the wrong place, and hold up the instruction booklet. It just means we’re making it together.

It’s hard to type when your hands don’t seem to hit the keys you want them to. I’ll keep proof reading your tweets, it’s no trouble. Occasionally they’re funny and you would have undoubtedly shown me half of them anyway. Besides, you’ve never been a great speller. Intervention has been a long time coming in that regard.

I get that it’s a little hard to shower sometimes and wash your hair. Not to sound too risqué, but I’ve never turned down an opportunity to shower with you before and I don’t see that changing. Sure, it’s a little different now – your body is swollen and bruised. It’s fine. I’ll just be really careful.

Things are more exhausting than they’ve ever been. That’s why you need to walk slowly and nap during the day. Well guess what? I love napping and slow ambling walks. It just means I get to appreciate the world around me for a little longer. Plus, you’re cute when you’re asleep.

I don’t care that you dribble now or that from a certain angle (and I know you’ll kill me for saying this), you bear a strong resemblance to Sloth from The Goonies. I still smile when I look at your face. I still get butterflies when I hold your hand. I still feel safe and comforted in your embrace. I love you for so much more than your looks. Though I do wish you’d stop wiping your chin on my jumper sleeve.

I know that it’s all probably going to get so much worse. I’m scared too. I saw what chemo did to my dad and his treatment wasn’t particularly intense. You’ll get through it. We will, together. No matter how weak or frail or funny-looking you get, I’ll still be here. Our relationship is changing but that’s okay. Let me take on a little more for the time being.

But Evan, please. Stop trying to push me away. You’re never going to be a burden to me, I promise.