The Trials Of A Caregiver.

I have been a caregiver for several years, and it never ceases to amaze me how different people act when I am taking care of them.

Although most of my interactions with clients are positive, there are several really mean people who don’t know how to treat other people.

I had a client who was a very overweight African American woman who was 58 years old. I am 70. The first day I was in her home, she wouldn’t even let me sign in to my work via her phone, which was required.

She insisted on doing it for me, though that method was not accepted by the company I worked for.

She told me I was supposed to take her to the doctor, and I asked her if I could get a cup of coffee so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

She told me not to worry because when I got outside I would wake up, and besides, I had to bring my own coffee. (We had plenty of time.) It was not unusual for my other clients to insist that I have a cup of coffee with them, so all this was new to me.

So I went to my car, and I was putting everything from my front passenger seat into the back seat of my car, thinking I was then going to go to my client’s door and help her out.

Then, before I was finished moving the items to my back seat (I had no idea I was supposed to take my client anywhere), my client was walking outside yelling, “Open the door!” “Open the door.”

So I helped her finish her walk and get into the front seat of the car, which was next to impossible. We had a terrible time getting her one foot in, and she was yelling.

I asked her if it hurt her foot, and she said, “No.” Finally, we got her foot in the car. So she told me how to get to the doctor’s office, and I knew she would throw a fit if I went a different way to the doctor’s office, or, heaven forbid, if I made a wrong turn. Soon we arrived at the doctor’s office and waited.

After the doctor’s appointment, on the way to her home, she had to tell me where to turn; she put my defrosters in my car on herself without my permission, and she told me how fast I should have the windshield wipers go.

Then we get in front of her apartment building, and she tells me to go over the curb and onto the grass to drive her to her door.

I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I couldn’t tell her because she was yelling so loud. “Go on the grass, go on the grass.” Finally, I had to raise my voice to get her to shut up, and I said, “I am not going to do it.”

I was so stressed that I said, “It’s not all about you.” Then she yells, “It’s all about me! It is all about me!” So then I helped her into her apartment, and she apologized for yelling at me, and I told her I forgave her. If she hadn’t done that, I would have quit working for her.

Later on, I found out from my boss that I was never supposed to take her to the doctor in my car in the first place and that we were supposed to take a bus, which I am sure my client already knew.

Then the next time I came, she was nicer, at least for her, other than staring at me constantly the whole time I was cleaning. I had seven hours to be there all together, and there was plenty of time to do nothing.

So since I was spending five whole hours in front of the TV watching what she wanted, I asked her if I could sit on her couch, instead of the uncomfortable chair I was sitting in.

She said I couldn’t because her dolls were there. I asked her if we could move the dolls, and she said no because she was afraid I would give her Covid if I sat on the couch, although I was right next to her all day bringing her stuff.

She did offer me a water bottle and a cup of coffee, but I had to use a tea kettle to boil the water, and she wouldn’t let me use it until the tea kettle went off, even though the water was much hotter than I wanted it to be.

Then on the next and last day I spent at her house, I was cleaning her bathroom, and she was staring at me as usual, and I was having trouble putting the attachment to the toilet back on.

She is ordering me to turn it this way and that, and I told her I couldn’t do this because your staring is making me nervous, so I partially shut the bathroom door, and I was able to get it on correctly, while she was yelling, “It’s my house!”

When I was done cleaning the bathroom, I asked her if I could have a bottle of water because she had given me one the time before, and it was her idea.

Then she tells me in a nasty tone to take the water, but next time I have to furnish my own water and coffee, so I told her I didn’t want the water, so she kept yelling, “Take the water bottle, take the water bottle,” so I got a cup out of the sink to take a sip of water.

Then she said I could not use her cups because I broke her favorite the last time I was there (I had accidentally dropped the cup the time before, but I forgot to report it to the company I was working for so they could replace it).

I said that’s up to where I worked to pay for, and she yelled, “No, it’s your responsibility” several times. I told her that I wasn’t going to put up with any more of her abuse and left. Then she said “adios” sarcastically.

This story is also published on Medium