IT HAPPENED TO ME:Pat Kelly has been a carer for the past 22 years. In that time he has seen the best and the worst of the Irish health service. This is his story as told to Fiona Tyrrell.
THE MOST recent census indicates that there are 18,000 carers in Ireland, but there are probably lots more. It is like being in Alcoholics Anonymous. Just like you have to accept you are an alcoholic, you have to accept that you are a carer.
The way we were brought up we feel it is our duty to look after our loved ones. It took me 15 years to accept I was a carer.
I first became a carer in the mid-1980s when my mother, who had suffered from arthritis and asthma for years, had to have her two hips replaced. Soon after she became diabetic. Prior to that I had been forced to give up my job as a lorry driver because of a major back operation.
My father began to need help in 1998 when he broke his hip. At that stage, Dad was in a Zimmer frame and my mother was in a wheelchair.
It was a pleasure to look after them. Being a carer has its compensations. The love the two of them showed me was out of this world. My mother, Molly, passed away in 1998.
Two years later my dad, John Joe, had a massive stroke and has been completely disabled since. He is totally dependent on me - he can't feed himself, wash himself or look after his toilet needs.
Looking after dad, who is now 92, is a full-time job. He stays at home with me for four weeks and goes to St Finbarr's Hospital in Cork city for two weeks' respite care.
Even when he goes into St Finbar's I go up to the hospital every day between 12 and 2pm and 4pm and 5pm to feed him. The sister on the ward gives out to me. She says: "Respite is for you, not for your father." But I feel that I have a duty towards my parents.
When he first went in for respite care I was unsure about it. The building used to be the workhouse and it had bad associations for me, but I soon changed my attitude.
When I left him the first time it was very distressing. He was shouting and roaring. Having left the ward I turned back and I found the nurse was stroking his face. After that I knew there was nothing to worry about.
In the last while, Dad seems to be going downhill. He is in St Finbarr's at the moment with another chest infection. He has not been able to talk in the last week. Every day is a bonus.
The team at St Finbarr's is excellent. They treat me as part of Dad's medical team. I know we are lucky. There are thousands of people who cannot get their loved ones into respite.
We also have great service from the public health nurse. She comes three days a week and if I need anything I just have to pick up the phone.
Last September Dad had pneumonia. I brought him into Cork University Hospital (CUH). He was on a trolley for 12 hours before he was admitted. During this period he was very agitated and very frightened.
I couldn't fault the staff. I have nothing but admiration and praise for the doctors, nurses and staff who work in our hospitals.
However, I was very angry that my father had to spend 12 hours on a trolley in such distress. I was so angry that I wrote a letter to Mary Harney, Bertie Ahern and all the Cork TDs. Apart from Micheál Martin (who just sent my letter on to CUH) I am still waiting for replies.
Over the years, we have had lots of experience of trolleys. I spent time on them with my back trouble and my mother regularly spent eight to 10 hours on a trolley with her different problems. When Dad broke his hip 10 years ago he was on a trolley for seven hours and even when he had his stroke in 2000 he spent 10 hours on a trolley.
I accepted that in the bad old days, but the bad old days are gone. We have had unrivalled prosperity in the past few years and it seems that, despite a massive spend, nothing has improved.
The Government makes great play of the term "elder abuse" but surely the Government itself is the greatest abusers of the elderly in the way that older people are treated in this country.
We still don't have a stroke unit in Cork. In Ireland only 2 per cent of the people who suffer a stroke will receive proper stroke treatment. A stroke patient needs to receive specialist stroke care within one hour.
If there was a stroke unit in Cork, who knows what the outcome would have been for Dad.
All I know is that having been in the army for 40 years, he is entitled to good care. It is his generation and my generation that built the prosperity of this country.
I joined the Carers Association in 1997 and it was a great boost to my self-confidence. It is a great place to find out about your entitlements as well as receiving emotional support.
I go in to the association branch in Cork every six weeks, after I have dropped Dad into St Finbarr's. It is hard to describe how therapeutic it is to have a cup of tea and a chat with someone who understands. We are like a fraternity. There is no one to judge you, no one to patronise you. We are all in the same boat.
Because I have been on a disability allowance I was not entitled to a carer's allowance or medical card. Since last September, however, a new scheme was introduced whereby anyone in receipt of social welfare payments is entitled to up to half of the carer's allowance. I get €107. It was the first payment I received as a carer in 22 years. From next year it will increase by €7 when I turn 65.
Dad's bedroom is very small, so I applied for the disabled conversion grant to extend that room by 5ft. I am also getting our tiny hall extended. It is so cramped that we can't get a stretcher out through it.
This means that every time Dad leaves the house to go for respite I have to get him from the bed, into the wheelchair with the hoist, out of the wheelchair with the hoist and onto a stretcher in the ambulance. I have it down to a fine art now, but if it is raining it is very difficult.
It took a year and no end of form-filling before the grant came through. I got a grant of just over €29,000 and I will get the extra €7,000 from the credit union.
Around 38 per cent of carers are male, but we are very reluctant to put ourselves forward. As a group, carers are undervalued and underappreciated.
Being a carer is frustrating, but it is also very rewarding. In the morning my father says to me: "I love you my golden boy.'' He leans over to me and puts his good arm around me and kisses the face off me.
It can also be very isolating and depressing. I have not had a holiday since 1984 when I went to New York and Washington. Now I only go on day trips. Last week I went up to Dublin with the Carers Association and we met President Mary McAleese.
My sister Mary lives next door to me. She is my rock. She has three children and two grandchildren. I do some baby-sitting for them. Yes, my hands are full but isn't it better to be busy rather than sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.
•Readers who would like to talk about their own health experience, good or bad, can contact this column at healthsupplement@irish-times.ie