How becoming Mum’s carer forever changed our family

With so many aged care horror stories, looking out for my own ageing mother, and becoming her advocate, has become hugely important, writes Catherine Bauer.

A DECADE and more ago this writer was among the early flush of “mummy bloggers” to hit the media landscape.

I wrote a regular newspaper column, sharing my perspective on the rollercoaster highs and lows of contemporary parenting — no sugar coating allowed.

At the time blogging about the warts and all daily mummy grind was a social phenomenon. It quickly developed into a multi-billion dollar industry worldwide and many mummy bloggers have themselves evolved into big brands.

My earliest days of motherhood were not what I’d expected — not at all. Not for me the golden-lit world of pink-skinned cherubs who slept, fed and smiled on cue with me wafting around the place, hair and nails done and straight back into my pre-pregnancy skinny jeans. Rather it was erratic sleep, colic, reflux, feeding issues, scabby nipples, red bottoms, unannounced visitors, identity loss, piles of laundry, unswept floors, pants with elasticised waistbands and neglected family and friends. The memories are vivid.

Loved those babies to bits, but hell it was hard and relentless work — why did no one tell me?

Sure, the first days of motherhood are meant to come with a warm glow, but more often it can feel like this. (Pic: iStock)

Blogging about my experiences, as I raised my three sons, was both therapeutic and ego-stroking, with many readers revealing that my shared experiences resonated and made then feel less freakish about their own secret frustrations.

Anyway, that was another time and one we all survived. My boys are now amazing teenagers with study loads, girlfriends, cars and part-time jobs. Did someone say time marches?

In the blink of an eye it feels I’ve gone from buying nappies, reading wipes brand packaging and researching nutritious soft baby food recipes to buying incontinence pads, reading wipes brand packaging and researching older folks’ nutritious soft food recipes. My darling, gracious, stylish, nurturing mother had a stroke a month ago and my siblings, father, sons and I have suddenly become carers.

Catherine’s sons (left to right) Joe, Leo and Pat with her mother Mary Bauer. (Pic: Supplied)

Just as my children seemingly grew up while I wasn’t looking, so too have my parents aged.

I’m quickly finding that just as the advertising industry sells dreams about the first blush of motherhood, so too are many of the popular portrayals of greying gracefully a bit of a stretch. It’s not all cocktails and cruises, tossing balls with grandkids, surfing at sunrise with the old crew or enjoying daylong shopping trips with the girls, who all still sport perfectly white teeth and lipstick-smiles.

There’s also blood, shit and tears with falls, incontinence, dementia, chronic pain, mobility, eyesight and a litany of other health issues that come with ageing. There are appointments, legal and financial issues to be considered, medical plans, powers of attorney, medical care directives and so on. The ageing industry comes with a massive list of acronyms — ACAT, ACD, EoL, EoLCP, QoL and RCF. There are EDs, NPs, OTs, RNs and SDMs. Point is, there’s a lot to get your head around.

Mary Bauer circa 1950. (Pic: Supplied)

Mum’s stroke was classed “mild”, with some vision, cognitive and mobility loss. But the hardest thing has been the cruel dilution of her “essence” — the little things that make her who she is seem to have been blunted, the sparkle dimmed, the laughter not so loud or ready to spill forth. Somehow she’s just a fingertips’ reach away, trapped behind a filmy curtain. We all want to grab her back, but frustratingly can’t quite seem to.

With so many aged care horror stories grabbing news in recent times, my siblings and I have not been afraid to ask questions, to advocate for mum, to get all the assistance available and to share out the myriad of immediate admin tasks associated with hospital and respite care among ourselves. So far we’ve encountered nothing but professional and warm care from the hospital at all levels and from the incredible staff at mum’s new RCF — that’s sector lingo for Residential Care Facility!

But one of the most important tools in navigating this latest chapter — and just as Mum would expect, we are facing it all with a sense of humour — and let me tell you there are plenty of bright spots in the day of a carer.

I’ve already met some amazing individuals, been spun many a convincing story by mum’s RCF neighbours, tried to rescue someone who didn’t need it, been told amazing personal tales, only to learn later, it was pure fantasy. I’ve happily invested time chatting and learning about someone’s amazing life story, only to encounter the same person moments later and realise they have no idea who I am. I watched a lady dance while an elderly gent played Love Story on his “boom-chic-boom-chic” electronic keyboard, while another gent shouted from the back row that he needed to make an urgent phone call.

It’s all served to make me realise that sometimes alternative reality is OK. It’s also helped me cope with our new family dynamic, and the fact that each night Mum is being tucked up by the lovely staff at her RCF, rather than at home with Dad, her husband of more than 50 years. I think she’s somehow OK with that for now.

Originally published as How becoming Mum’s carer forever changed our family