The first rule of caring

The correct answer to this question may well save your life – and possibly the lives of others.

There you are at 38,000 feet. Suddenly the cabin air pressure drops and the oxygen masks fall. You’re travelling with a child or someone with a disability. What do you do?

The answer, repeated in every pre-flight briefing, is simple, if counter-intuitive: you look after yourself first. You put on your own mask, then you help your companion. By caring for yourself, you are better equipped to care for them.

That’s the number one rule for anyone in a caring role: you look after yourself, even—at times—putting yourself first.

Over the years in ministry I have met many carers who have simply cared themselves into exhaustion, until they no longer had anything left to give. Sometimes that’s unavoidable, but more often than not, in my experience, it could have been prevented.

And that’s the position I find myself in today, as Jacqui’s primary carer.

This morning I chose to blog on caring for someone with dementia because the Lancashire County Social Care team were due to phone at 10.00 am for a consultation. However, I’ve just had a call saying that, due to staff illness, it must be postponed. But hey—that’s life!

Not that I find caring for Jacqui difficult or even particularly demanding. What has helped enormously is that her dementia has progressed very slowly. It’s over eight years since others first noticed small signs of Alzheimer’s. It took me several more years to register any marked change in her behaviour.

This gradual shift has allowed me to adjust our routines slowly and gently over time, rather than all at once.

By contrast, my heart goes out to those whose loved one is suddenly struck by a major medical event—a stroke, for example—and in a single moment their whole way of life is turned upside down. Such people need, and deserve, enormous support.

As for me, I’ve been able to maintain most of my usual routines with some planning and adaptation. Each Saturday morning, for example, I do the ParkRun wherever I happen to be. Tomorrow it’s back to Crosby for my 354th run. That rhythm means two or three runs during the week, which I organise so someone is with Jacqui.

Here I think especially of the three strands of support that matter most: family, church, and now County services, with day care at Mere Brook available if needed. Support is crucial—not least to make sure the carer is supported too.

And here we are hugely blessed. Four daughters and ten grandchildren, each helping in their own way, even with granny-sitting.

So this coming Tuesday we head to London for my annual college economists’ reunion—this year at the Savile Club, of all places. We’ll stay with our daughter in central London, and she will expertly look after Jacqui while I dine in style.

But then there is the family of the church. As disciples of Jesus we belong to a network of brothers and sisters who come alongside us. Being part of the body of Christ makes a huge difference in this individualistic age; it gives us a reservoir of support to draw from.

This may be as simple as someone having afternoon tea with Jacqui so that I can go for a run, or taking the pressure off by fixing our bathroom tap. Such acts may seem small, but spread across many people they become transformative. As Paul writes: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).

The big surprise for me is how important my own ministry has become—for me. Over 25% of Anglican services are now taken by retired clergy, and here I am doing my bit. This month—fairly typically—I’m taking five Sunday services (two on one day, twice), four midweek Communions, and (so far) four funerals and a burial of ashes.

Firstly, I enjoy it—especially the challenge and opportunity of preaching: it's my calling. Secondly, I’m needed; there’s very little spare capacity and many clergy and churchwardens are under real pressure.

But the third reason is a powerful incentive: church communities are wonderfully supportive of Jacqui. Wherever we go, someone is delighted to take responsibility for her, whatever that may involve. She knows the liturgy by heart and readily joins in.

Liturgy is an extraordinary gift. Once it’s in your bones, it stays there for life—even when your brain is faltering or stress distracts you.

She loves singing hymns too; again, they are deep within her. The whole church experience—even funerals—is supportive, not least through gentle social interaction.

She even comes with me on funeral visits. I always ask permission beforehand, and she is invariably welcomed with warmth, often by families who have themselves cared for loved ones with dementia. Her presence gives them context, even comfort.  Moreover, Jacqui will often pray for them, and during services, pray for me, even in real time. 

In all this, we see God at work. When you choose to live for Christ and rely on his faithfulness, this is what happens when Storm Claudia arrives. The rain lashes down, the gales roar—and the house built upon the rock stands firm.