Do you remember reading about or watching the video of Randy Pausch a few years back?  He’s the dynamic Carnegie Mellon professor who became famous after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer — and then gave an incredible lecture, “The Last Lecture ^[1],” about his impending death.  A video of his talk went viral — before viral was even cool.

Randy lived and died with such grace that it is easy to forget that he had a wife and caregiver, Jai, who stood by his side until the very end.

Like most caregivers, Jai spent much of her time after Randy’s diagnosis in the shadows.  Randy was the one who was dying.  Randy was the charismatic speaker who set the world on fire and received all of the accolades and attention.

In the meantime, Jai took care of their three kids, managed the house, and oversaw Randy’s care.

How do I know all of this?  Because my wife and caregiver, Pattie, just finished a book by Jai Pausch called “Dream New Dreams.”  The book touched her in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time.

Let me pause here and share that after five years of living with and taking care of me, Pattie has extreme “multiple myeloma fatigue.”  She rarely attends support group meetings anymore.  She doesn’t read anything I write about myeloma anymore.

Don’t get me wrong.  Pattie is a fabulous caregiver.  If I’m in pain or something’s wrong, she immediately switches back into “super-caregiver mode.” But taking care of me and listening to me talk about myeloma non-stop has worn her out.

So watching her get so excited by any book about cancer was an amazing breakthrough.  “This must be some book!” I thought to myself.

So I sat down and read it.  It didn’t take long for me to realize what she found so engaging.  Jai had learned what so many caregivers that have come before her already knew, that “many oncologists and cancer centers do not offer support for the patient’s caregiver.  And caregivers can quickly find themselves overwhelmed without the resources to help.”

Jai Pausch had written a “What about us?” manifesto for caregivers.  And my wife was listening.

As I write this, I’m struggling to focus on any one part of our story.  There are so many directions I could go if I had the space and time:  How caregivers need more support and “me” time.  Or as Jai so poignantly wrote, they can “lose all of themselves in the swirl of fear and waves of strong emotions.”

But to me, all that really mattered is my wife was talking to me about her feelings — and my cancer again.

If there is one takeaway message I can share with you this month, it’s this:  Find a way to take care of your caregiver!

I’m not sure if you are aware of this or not, but Pattie is also a cancer survivor.  I was her caregiver — on and off — for over six years.  But that was over a decade ago.  And it wasn’t such an overwhelming, never ending process like it is when you are taking care of a multiple myeloma patient.  There was a light at the end of the tunnel, an endpoint.  There was the real hope that Pattie could be cured, and then we could get on with our lives.

So I’m going to think back and dig deep to remember how I felt and coped when I wore a caregiver’s hat.  I promise that I will come up with some unexpected suggestions, for both patients and caregivers, in time for next month’s column.

Maybe some of you can share in the comments section your suggestions for dealing with a chronically ill patient — without losing your sense of self.

Until next month, feel good and keep smiling!