Tag Archives: care work

Feb 14 2019
2 Comments
My Ramblings

Honestly, Don’t Care

Yesterday, a call went out from our Government, encouraging young people to consider a care worker job.

According to the BBC, there are more than 100,000 vacancies in the sector, and it’s hardly surprising.

I worked in this sector for just under two years, eventually being fired when I was diagnosed with MS, after a horrendous and sustained bullying campaign by the management.

In my idealistic mind, I wanted to experience care at the coal face, in preparation for undertaking a Master’s in Social Work. After a low-paid, local job for ten years, to juggle childcare as the only present parent, I was now free-ish to explore further opportunities.

So I signed up, went through the random induction course and donned my uniform.

For care companies, a 15-minute call is gold-dust – we would turn up, dispense medication, undertake vital care-checks, whizz round the kitchen, take out rubbish, talk to the customer, clean the toilet, note our concerns and perhaps make a cold lunch for later. For this, we would earn under £4.

It’s sold to families as the answer to their ‘problem’, i.e their parent/relative and the care company earns more, percentage wise for these calls, so they are heavily promoted.

Then, a long journey to the other end of the city – mileage paid at the lower end of the scale (after six weeks or so) and nothing for time. I often spent 45 minutes in heavy traffic, knowing I was not earning a penny.

My first timetable lasted from 6.45am to 9pm. Four visits, bringing in around £25, but being on call for over 13 hours. It was important to sidle up to the care-coordinator as they could make or break you with the scheduled visits. If your face didn’t fit, you got the terrible calls.

And I mean terrible; despair, neglect, cruelty, we saw it all. We coped with incredible emotional demands, and were massively under-prepared to deal with severe dementia, bereavement, depression and so many more conditions. And all for a minimum wage, zero-hours contract.

I’ve seen a lot in my life, but nothing prepared me for this underworld of care. It’s brutal. Visits are cut under new directives, or lack of ability to pay. Relatives implore you to stay a little longer. I once cared for a couple who both had dementia and went to their care home in my own time to clean their toilet, as they were convinced someone had broken in and used it.

We criss-crossed the city, cleaning mess, soothing, caring, noting concerns in care file which would never truly be looked at unless an inspection was imminent or anticipated. We were timed and admonished if we went over the allotted minutes, despite it being unpaid.

In effect, we were massively underpaid social workers, by any other name, except we got our hands dirty.

Care work, as it stands, is not for most people, far less young people. I would rather they sought work in pubs, cafes, restaurants, where people are happy and optimistic.

Until care work, such a vital resource, is recognised and rewarded, it will never be viewed as a valid career option. Why do we outsource the care of our most vulnerable people to underpaid, under-trained and unprepared people? We do not do this in kindergartens or schools, so why treat elderly and disabled people in such a warehoused manner?

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Oct 02 2018
4 Comments
Emotions

This Is What An ‘Unskilled Care Job’ Looks Like

Since the Conservative Party Conference began, you will hear ‘care work’ written off as ‘unskilled’.

And, ‘how will we fill these unskilled care posts after Brexit?’

Time and time again, over and over, on every news channel.

Why do I believe it’s not an unskilled job? And why I am so angry with this term being bandied around?

Because I was a care-worker, I did that ‘unskilled’ work and it was the hardest job of my life.

Sure, I stepped on the ‘bottom rung’ in the Care Sector, with my ultimate plan being to train as a social worker. But I believed it was intrinsic to learn at grassroots, if I was ever going to become an effective manager.

So, here’s a little insight into this so-called ‘unskilled job’:

You are on a zero-hours contract with no time paid for travel between customers. So, you can work a 12 hour day and be paid for 4.

You have no idea what situation you will encounter at each job, whether it’s a 97 year old woman screaming at you to leave her alone, but it’s on your notes that you must shower and dress her, despite her bones being in danger of snapping. Or whether the next customer has severe dementia, is living in squalor and you have to step over dog mess in every area of the house.

We washed women dying of cancer, trying to give them a little dignity back. We changed pads on proud men, shying away from us through sheer embarrassment, all the while reassuring them that everything was ok.

We encountered hostile relatives, violence and rudeness. We were yelled at, shoved, pushed around and still had to pull on reserves of patience and kindness.

We came in at the end of life, mostly, with all its indignities, yet we bathed, administered medication, washed, dressed and fed people who needed us. We built relationships with no training. How do you learn to talk about death, sickness, infirmity and all the rest that we endured?

But we did. We forged friendships, saw some of the customers every day, chatted about this and that and learned what they liked and didn’t like. We sorted through their mounds of medication, diligently noting what they took and what they refused. Unskilled?

We saw death, uncaring relatives, abusive relatives, heart-wrenching loneliness. Every time we closed the door on a customer, a little part of us died. That fifteen minute ‘Med Call’ was the only human contact they had. Interesting. That fifteen minute call is also one of the most lucrative for the care company. But what can you do in that time?

Not only that, to work for fifteen minutes, earn perhaps, £2, then travel across peak traffic (unpaid travel time), maybe seven miles to your next call, and you can see the problem.

It’s called unskilled because it needs people living in poverty to apply.

Who else would put up with such conditions? And who else cares enough to organise seismic change in this rotten, cruel sector?

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