This is a piece of advice my brother gave me at the beginning of our dad’s treatment and our subsequent non-stop care of him, during an early but significant moment of me being extremely overwhelmed. One of things I initially found hardest to deal with was, basically because I can’t find any other way to put it, the patience it takes to be a carer generally, ESPECIALLY when matched with the other crazy emotions fundamental to a loved one being scary-sick. Like, not only was this all an emotional horror-show, but you’re telling me I gotta also exercise patience and restraint and compassion, as well as spend every day undergoing a series of tasks ranging from boring to terrifying, including the observed feeding of three square meals to someone whose illness, treatment, and subsequent cocktail of medicines makes them borderline-abusive? Ha ha. But the only answer to that is YES, and the others on my team obviously kinda depended on it (one weak link, one bad apple, etc.), and so I had to learn to keep my temper and be patient. Maybe this was so hard because in our family, there has always been this kind of freedom of expression, all the time—which meant that I was used to things like chewing my dad out for saying and doing typically jerky stuff. It wasn’t like I did this all the time, but an honest, healthy exchange was definitely the thing—now, no more. Interactions have a potent fragility when someone is really sick. It kind of deafens everything else and it means that even the jerkiest of moves on the part of the patient must be handled with care, lest we forget that he who was once a jerk of his own accord is now probably acting EXTRA jerky because of his extenuating circumstances, which I of course can’t help but be grudgingly sympathetic to, no matter how jerky he gets. Or I guess the point is that if I CAN help it, I have to just not.

And therein lies the essence of Leaving the Room: you need to just not. When you want to scream or cry, you need to just not. When you want to furiously interject when your dad is being an insufferable, arrogant liar at the weekly doctor review, you need to just not. When you feel yourself about to snap in any way about any given thing that might be insulting, scaring, confusing, worrying, boring, stressing, or otherwise paining you, you just leave the room in your head, and trust that later you will have more insight into how to act. Then, when you can physically leave the room, too, go and process your stuff to yourself while deciding your next move to keep going. 99/100 times you will be grateful for having the time to reflect rather than voicing your immediate reaction.

So, as we can see, the most crucial thing I’ve come to understand about looking after someone who’s ill is: It can be really hard! The second most crucial thing I’ve been forced to understand is that I NEED. TO KEEP. MY COOL. Despite my historical difficulty with this, this situation demands emotional management above everything. If you’re likely to struggle with staying calm in frustrating situations, a practical, inclusive solution is to enlist other team members to basically check you when, in whatever volatile scenario may have arisen, you are about to unleash the fuel of uncontrolled emotion onto the fire that you are all already trying to manage. My mum and I hatched a plan to this effect on our way to a family meeting about legal decisions where we foresaw me having conflict with a specific relative, which I wanted to avoid at all costs, not only because it would have elevated the situation but also if only to maintain the upper hand (if ya know what I’m sayin’—you can’t let ‘em see ya crack!). So we decided that if the conversation began to get out of hand and my mum should see steam start to rise out from my ears, she would cry “Wow-ee!!” and that would be a sign to me to immediately stop talking and chill the freak out.

Whoever drops the Wowee (as it’s now known generally) then has the power to steer the conversation back to safer waters. The other person typically falls silent (nine times out of 10, swear!!). So it basically means “shut up and let me talk,” but is deployed it as a neutralizer rather than a weapon.

Wowee-ing is also useful in the way that it allows you to communicate without anyone outwardly undermining each other, or publicly squabbling, which are things you might not necessarily want to do in front of relatives you’re beefing with; not to mention the person you’re caring for, who will surely not benefit from anything less than as peaceful and harmonious a vibe in family discussions as possible (especially if those discussions pertain to their health or care).

A suggestion from my mum, and certainly easier said than done, I would go so far as to say that this tip is applicable not only to teamwork while caring, but also generally anywhere else in the practical joke that is life! IF you can maintain a sense of humor about all the ugly, miserable shit going on everywhere all the time, you will invariably have a better time of it. That’s not to say that you shouldn’t sweat the small stuff (shit sucks, and you will also invariably sweat the small stuff), but if you can counter that with laughing until you can’t breathe at least a few times a week, things will still be not the worst they can get—which I’ll admit isn’t saying much, but hey, laugh or cry, right?? Indulging in funny things or allowing yourself to see the silly side of some situation can often be an unexpected relief. Whoever said laughter was the best medicine was maybe exaggerating a little, but was definitely not wrong. Laughter is a totally decent medicine, and in this and all your other endeavors, I wish you and your team much of it. ♦