Turnover

I suppose we all expect people to think like we do… much more often than it really happens, anyway. Maybe the two caregivers who suddenly left this week expected me to think like they were thinking. Both of them had sick children upcountry they had to take care of, so they said.

They probably figured I’d be as accepting of the disruption in our routine as they would have been in my shoes. It’s common in Thailand for misfortune to be met with giggles, in a sort of “might as well laugh as cry” spirit.

But I have to say it was rough to get a call from the bus station, essentially saying, “I’m not sure if I’ll be back, and no, I won’t be coming over to say goodbye in person.” Living here has relaxed me, but not enough to receive that kind of news calmly, twice in the same week. It’s hard to be accepting of the sudden new demands on me and the remaining caregiver. Not to mention the change for Jip, who has to put up with a lowered standard of care when it’s my shift each night.

Helping her take care of her daily activities is tough enough, but on top of that, I also have to once again look for and orient thick-skinned, experienced folks with strong backs who can see past Jip’s ornery exterior and discover the truly wonderful person inside. Since October four new caregivers have worked at least a month, and then moved on, taking with them the hard-earned understanding of our little idiosyncrasies.

Maybe we were spoiled by the two women who came from an agency back in July ’05 when we first arrived. They effectively worked non-stop for sixteen months, each taking less than five days off during that time, except for Sundays, when it was my turn.

One of them is still with us, working extra hard this week. It’s hard for me to believe there aren’t more like her out there, but since that very first experience, our luck with agencies has been pretty lousy. They typically send us seven or eight people for every one that sticks around. Sometimes the candidates decide that the work isn’t for them, sometimes we decide that they’re not for us.

I can understand why a potential caregiver might get scared off. Jip’s mood is good about 60% of the time, average about 30%, and pretty foul the remaining 10%. Watching her swing quickly through those states can be frustrating, especially when you’re also trying to attend to the near-constant stream of difficult-to-decipher talk that comes from Jip during waking hours these days.

As for the folks who left this week, what could I really say to them? It’s an unfair fact of Thai village life that young mothers can’t make enough money to support their families. They take off for the big city to earn wages that they then send back to grandma or whoever is raising their kids. When I try to think like they must be thinking, I know they’re making the right choice to return home. I just wish we’d gotten a little more notice.