Preparing for the Care We Rarely Talk About

I registered for the "The First Step in Caregiving: Chaperone & Companionship" course at Care Concierge Academy with no particular expectations. I assumed it would be practical and instructional. I thought I would simply learn some guidelines on caring for elderly family members and understanding when something constitutes a medical emergency.

What I did not expect was how personal the experience would feel.

More Than Just Technical Skills

The course was not limited to caring for older adults. It covered anyone who might be bedridden or dependent on others for daily needs, including stroke patients.

We learnt the basics of handwashing; how to wear surgical masks and gloves properly; how to perform perineal care, change urine bags, and change adult nappies; and how to safely transfer someone from a bed to a wheelchair and into a car. We were taught how to use a gait belt during mobility transfers and what it means to chaperone someone during hospital visits and medical appointments.

These were technical skills. Necessary ones.

But somewhere in between the demonstrations and instructions, something shifted in me.

The Moment It Became Personal

During the session on perineal care, I felt an unexpected sense of helplessness. It was not because the procedure was difficult to understand. It was because I suddenly imagined myself in that position one day.

If I were old and bedridden, how would I allow myself to be cleaned and handled by someone else? How would I accept being touched by strangers? How far could I hold on to my dignity without feeling shitty?

I realised how much I dislike asking for help from strangers. The thought of depending entirely on someone else for basic hygiene unsettled me more than I expected. It made me confront a version of vulnerability that I had not fully considered before.

Understanding Dementia Differently

The course also touched on dementia. We learned that patients may refuse to eat, may behave unpredictably, and can deteriorate in ways that are painful to witness. They are not difficult because they choose to be. Dementia is a disease that gradually eats away at the brain. The behaviour is not personality; it is pathology.

That reframing matters. It shifts frustration into compassion. It shifts judgement into understanding.

Why I Signed Up in the First Place

I attended this course because I wanted to be the first in my family to know what to look out for. I wanted to be able to recognise when something is a medical emergency and when it is not. I wanted to understand how to care for my loved ones before immediately turning to external professional caregivers. I wanted to feel prepared.

A geriatric specialist once told me that in an emergency, I should just go to the hospital. That advice is correct. Hospitals are for emergencies.

The Part No One Talks About: After the Hospital

But what happens after the hospital is what concerns me most.

The discharge summary is handed over. The medication list is explained. The follow-up appointment is scheduled. Then the patient goes home.

Home is where the real care begins.

Who helps with toileting?

Who ensures proper hygiene?

Who notices subtle changes?

Who handles mobility transfers?

Who sits through the waiting at medical appointments?

Who understands when agitation is part of dementia and not defiance?

That "after" is rarely discussed openly.

Yet it is the reality many families quietly navigate.

Working closely with hospitals over the years has given me insight into patient journeys, discharge processes, and continuity of care from a systems perspective.

But sitting in this caregiving class made me feel the emotional weight of what those transitions actually mean at home. It moved the concept of "post-discharge care" from professional understanding to personal responsibility.

What Shifted in Me

What shifted in me was not fear, although there was some of that. It was a deeper awareness of responsibility.

When the time comes, how ready will I be for my family? How ready will I be for myself?

Caregiving is not only about physical tasks. It is about preserving dignity when independence is no longer possible. It is about balancing clinical necessity with emotional sensitivity. It is about being steady when someone else feels vulnerable.

Preparedness is not only medical knowledge. It is emotional readiness. It is the willingness to step into uncomfortable spaces. It is acknowledging that one day, roles may reverse.

Midlife, Readiness, and Contribution

Perhaps this is also what midlife begins to look like. It is not only about career growth or personal ambition. It is about contribution. It is about quietly preparing for responsibilities that may not yet have arrived but eventually will.

We often prepare for promotions, investments, and milestones. We rarely prepare for frailty, dependency, or decline. Yet these are just as much a part of life.

I do not know what the future holds for my parents, my loved ones, or myself. But I know this: when the time comes, I want to contribute meaningfully. I want to respond with knowledge instead of panic. I want to act with steadiness instead of avoidance.

The hospital may handle the emergency.

But the care after that, the quiet, daily, intimate care, is what truly sustains a person.

And that is what I am learning to take seriously.

Part of the #CareAndCalling series

#CareAndCalling is a series about preparing for the responsibilities we rarely talk about, and recognising that care is not a detour but a calling.

– Finding My Way Back to Healthcare

– Learning to Care, Before We Have To

– This Was Never a Detour

– What Healthcare Has Quietly Taught Me

Year of the Horse: In Between Family, Work, and Small Wins

Chinese New Year has always meant reunion dinners and festive celebrations. As I grow older, I find that it also becomes a reflection of the different roles I carry in life.

There was the familiar Lou Sang with family. Everyone leaned in as we tossed the colourful mix of vegetables, crackers, and abalone into the air. It was fun, slightly chaotic, and exactly how it should be. Family gatherings remind me that beyond deadlines, projects, and responsibilities, there is a foundation that stays constant. Traditions like this are simple, but they anchor the year.

Then there were Lou Sangs with colleagues and clients. One photo captures it well: multiple pairs of chopsticks meeting in the centre of the plate, waiting to toss everything as high as we could! It was a reminder that work is not just about deliverables and targets. It is about people. It is about partnerships built over time, conversations that go beyond emails, and shared meals that make professional relationships more human.

Attending the company’s Chinese New Year dinner party also felt meaningful in its own way. Seeing everyone dressed up, relaxed, and celebrating together allowed me to step back from the usual work mode and appreciate the team behind the projects. Moments like these help us reconnect as people first.

There was also a small but memorable surprise. I won a Uniqlo gift card during the lucky draw! Woohoo! It may seem like a small win, but I have come to appreciate small wins like these more deeply. They are reminders that joy does not always come from grand achievements. Sometimes it comes in unexpected envelopes handed to you at the end of a dinner. See how big my smile was!

Walking through Pavilion Bukit Jalil (it was a planned date with hubby hehehe) and seeing the elaborate Chinese New Year decorations added another layer to the season. The red lanterns, festive displays, and crowd gathering to watch lion dance performance made the celebration feel communal. It was not just about personal rituals or company events. It was about being part of a larger rhythm that happens across the city during this time of year.

The Year of the Horse is said to symbolise strength, endurance, and forward momentum. As we continue into this new year, I hope: To show up for the people who matter. To build meaningful work. To appreciate small wins. And to remember that sometimes, the most valuable moments are the ones that happen in between.

Happy Chinese New Year.

What Healthcare Has Quietly Taught Me

Sometimes it takes a few years in a field before you realise how deeply it has shaped the way you think. When I first moved into healthcare communications, I saw it as a career trajectory shift. It meant learning new terminologies, understanding patient education, and helping hospital brands win brand resonance. What I did not expect was how much it would change the way I understand care itself.

The Moment That Changed My Perspective

One of the moments that stayed with me was my visit to Modern Cancer Hospital Guangzhou. Walking through the hospital was not just a work trip. It was the first time I saw, up close, how an entire system revolves around patients who are navigating one of the most uncertain chapters of their lives. It was not just about treatment rooms, equipment, or medical expertise. It was also about the conversations happening in consultation rooms and the waiting areas and the way doctors explained options to people who were trying to process life-changing information.

That visit helped me see cancer care differently. It is not simply about treatment. It is about guiding people through a long and often overwhelming journey. Patients move through stages of diagnosis, decisions, treatment, side effects, and recovery, and along the way they need clarity, reassurance, and someone who can help them understand what comes next.

Seeing Cancer Care Beyond Treatment

What stayed with me was not the technology or the procedures, but the conversations whereby complex information had to be conveyed into something understandable and where patients needed both facts and reassurance at the same time.

It made me realise that medicine, especially in fields like oncology, is as much about guidance as it is about treatment.

Why Healthcare Still Shapes My Daily Work

Even today, although I now work in a digital marketing agency, my day-to-day work remains deeply connected to healthcare. My main clients are hospital brands, which means I regularly research medical trends, diseases, and patient concerns and transform those insights into educational content for hospital websites. Staying immersed in this work keeps me closely aware of how patients seek understanding, how families search for reassurance, and how important clear communication becomes when people are facing uncertainty.

Through this ongoing exposure, I began to notice what resonates most strongly with me. It is not the technical side of medicine or the procedures themselves. What draws me in is the role of helping people navigate critical life chapters and understand what is happening to them.

Note: This caricature reflects what I do most days: working with data trends, healthcare content strategy and planning, usually with a laptop open and coffee within reach. I spend a lot of time thinking about how to turn information into something useful, clear, and meaningful. Still learning, still building, and very much enjoying the process. 

 

The Question That Made Me Reflect

At one point, I found myself wondering what specialty I might have chosen if life had taken me into medicine. The answer that came to mind was oncology, or something related to chronic care. It was not because I was drawn to the disease itself or to clinical interventions. It was because oncology represents a space where doctors accompany patients over time, helping them understand their situation, weigh difficult choices, and move forward step by step.

Realising What Truly Resonates

When I reflected on that thought more carefully, I realised that what appealed to me was not the specialty title, but the sense of being a steady guide when life becomes uncertain. That instinct is less about medicine and more about purpose. It is about helping people make sense of complex information, supporting them through decisions, and making difficult journeys feel more navigable.

Guiding From Outside the Consultation Room

In many ways, I have come to see that this guiding role can exist beyond the consultation room. Healthcare communication, when done responsibly, is not just about marketing or messaging. It shapes how patients first encounter information, how they interpret their options, and how confident they feel in seeking care. Clear content can reduce fear. Thoughtful explanations can empower families. Well-structured patient journeys can make an overwhelming system feel more understandable.

This perspective has changed how I see my own work. I no longer think of it only in terms of campaigns or deliverables. I see it as contributing, in a different but meaningful way, to how people experience care during vulnerable moments in their lives.

While clinicians guide one patient at a time, those working within healthcare systems and communication channels have the opportunity to improve the journey for many more.

What This Means for the Way I See My Work Now

Looking back, my visit to Modern Cancer Hospital Guangzhou was one of the ignition points for this realisation. It helped me understand that what matters most to me is not simply working in healthcare but being part of work that supports people through significant chapters of their lives. Whether that happens in a hospital consultation room or through clearer communication that reaches thousands, the intention remains the same.

I may not wear a white coat, but I have come to recognise that the instinct to guide, clarify, and support is still very much part of what I do. And perhaps that is what truly defines the kind of work that stays with us.

Celebratory Meals at Shinmapo & Kung Jung Korean Restaurants

My Recent Realisation

I realised I no longer celebrate milestones the way I once did. There was a time when achievements felt incomplete unless they were announced, shared, or marked in a visible way. These days, I find myself doing the opposite. I tend to let the moment settle before deciding whether it needs to be explained at all.

Recently, two Korean meals (one at Shinmapo and another at Kung Jung) became those markers for me. Not in an obvious way but they simply arrived at the right time, where I am more aware of how far I have come, and more selective about what deserves my energy.

The Down-to-Earth Vibe of Shinmapo

Shinmapo felt familiar and grounding. The food was hearty and uncomplicated, the kind that does not demand attention but offers comfort through consistency. Think KBBQ pork in different cuts, refillable banchan, and plenty of kimchi.

There is something reassuring about meals like this, especially when they are shared with friends. They remind you that steadiness is a form of strength, and achievements do not always have to be impressive to be meaningful. Happiness, when shared, is happiness gained.

The Refined Vibe of Kung Jung

Kung Jung, on the other hand, carried a different tone. The experience was more refined and more composed. Think Hanwoo beef, pollack, beef ribs, yukhoe (Korean-style beef tartare). It was mostly measured and intentional, much like the mindset I find myself in now. There was no rush or the need to prove anything. Just be present.

Embracing the Co-Existence

What struck me was not the contrast between the two restaurants, but how naturally they coexisted within the same period of my life. Familiarity and growth do not cancel each other out. In this season, I am learning that it is possible to hold both and to appreciate where I am now.

These meals did not feel like celebrations in the traditional sense. They felt more like acknowledgements. A recognition that something has shifted, that certain chapters have closed, and I have come to appreciate this quieter way of marking time.

Not every win needs to be explained. Some are meant to be quietly celebrated and fully owned. Period.