“So, what does a carer do?”
I get this question a lot — usually followed by an awkward laugh. I don’t blame people for asking. Live-in care is one of those jobs that’s invisible until someone in your life needs it.
But the reality?
It’s like being a nurse, housekeeper, companion, advocate, and sometimes therapist — all rolled into one.
Let me take you through yesterday — a pretty typical Friday that, like most days in care, was anything but typical.
☀️ 07:00 AM – My Secret Weapon: Solitude
The house is still sleeping. Honestly, this might be my favourite hour of the day. I pad into the kitchen in my slippers, make a proper strong coffee (sorry, builder’s tea just doesn’t cut it for me), and steal a few minutes that are completely mine.
I sit by the window, watching the world wake up, listening to birdsong. Sometimes I just breathe and mentally prepare for whatever the day might throw at me. These quiet moments aren’t a luxury — they’re survival.
🌄 09:00 AM – The Art of Gentle Mornings
I can usually tell what kind of day it’s going to be by how Gabe (name changed for privacy) wakes up. Today, he’s extra tired, so we take it slow.
I help him sit up, then transfer him to the lounge recliner for breakfast: Shreddies with milk, a little sugar, and my sneaky “one of five-a-day” — a few blackberries on top.
Then it’s time to head to the bathroom. We’ve been doing this routine for nearly 18 months now. Wash face, brush teeth, choose clothes. Gabe always says “checked shirt,” but they’re all checked — just in different colours. I usually laugh and say, “Alright, which checked one today then?”
People don’t realise how intimate this work is. You’re helping someone with their most basic needs, but you’re also protecting their dignity at every step.
It’s trust on a level most people never experience.
💊 10:00 AM – The Invisible Choreography
It’s time for medications. Gabe has five pills in the morning. He’s not a fan, so I call them “candies” to lighten the mood. He grumbles, but I catch a smile.
Meanwhile, my mental checklist never stops ticking:
GP appointment next Thursday. His daughter’s visiting Saturday. Family dinner Sunday night.
The dog’s food is running low. Add incontinence pads to the list.
All of it stored and spinning quietly in the back of my mind.
🌿 11:15 AM – Victory Lap Around the Block
The sun peeks through, and I suggest a walk. Luckily, Gabe usually agrees with my motto: “If it’s dry, we go.”
With his limited mobility, we head out using the wheelchair. Today, we drive to the fields where he used to work. He lights up when we’re outside — spotting birds, waving to dog walkers, feeling useful again while the dog trots happily beside us.
These tiny adventures mean the world.
🥪 1:30 PM – Stories Over Lunch
Gabe has a few favourite lunch spots. Today, it’s paninis for takeaway, eaten in his garden. He tells me stories from his days as a gardener — people he worked for, co-workers he still keeps in touch with.
These are the moments I love.
Yes, I’m a carer, but I’m also a keeper of stories — a witness to a life fully lived. Gabe has worked, travelled, raised children, survived heartbreak. He’s not just someone who needs help getting dressed. He’s a person with decades of memories, and I get to hold some of them with him.
💤 2:30 PM – The Afternoon Snooze
Gabe loves his afternoon nap in his recliner. While he rests, I tackle paperwork. The washing machine finishes a load, so I hang the laundry out to dry.
Truthfully, I cherish this time.
I text a friend back home in Latvia. Catch up on the news. Let myself feel a bit homesick — some days it’s sharper than others.
🗂 4:00 PM – The Endless To-Do List
There’s always something.
Today, I check his medications — enough supply, none expired. Gabe’s brother calls for a quick chat. I update him, gently managing expectations. I’ve become a bridge between generations — translator, advocate, emotional support.
🍝 6:00 PM – Comfort Food & Comfortable Silence
Dinner is meatballs al forno with garlic bread and salad — one of Gabe’s favourites (though he’d happily skip the salad). We eat while watching the news. The usual political character appears and we joke that he’s providing material for Have I Got News For You.
Then Gabe asks about my niece and nephew, and I tell him stories from home. It’s just two people sharing a meal and their lives. These quiet connections make all the hard parts worth it.
🌙 10:30 PM – The Gentle Goodnight
There’s a quiet choreography to bedtime — every step familiar, every movement purposeful.
Meds. Toilet. Pyjamas. Incontinence bottle placed within reach. Light switch positioned just so. Pillow tucked at his side to protect his feet.
“Goodnight, Daina,” he says.
I’m not family — but I’m not just staff either. I exist in that rare space where someone trusts you completely in their most vulnerable moments.
🌌 11:00 PM – Finally, Breathe
The house settles into quiet.
Some nights I’m bone-tired. Others, I’m quietly energised by something meaningful that happened.
Tonight I’m both.
I put something light on the screen. Let myself feel the weight of the day — and the weight of responsibility. Someone’s safety, comfort, and dignity rest partly in my hands.
It’s humbling. And sometimes overwhelming.
✨ The Invisible Moments
Here’s what you won’t find in any job description:
- Gabe’s joy when his tea is made just right
- Holding my breath during his nap, listening for steady breathing
- Smiling through the fifth telling of the same story
- Choosing when to step in, and when to step back and protect his independence
- The quiet ache of being “on” — even when I’m technically off duty
💛 Why I Do This
Tomorrow will be different. Gabe’s daughter is visiting, so there’ll be garden lunch, and a chat about sports.
That’s the thing about live-in care — you’re not just doing a job. You’re sharing a life.
It’s not glamorous, but it’s deeply human.
And in a world that often feels disconnected, being there for someone — day in, day out — feels like something that truly matters.
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