Backup Plan for the Backup Plan

If you do nothing else this year, make sure your caregiver plan has contingencies. In caregiving, "One is None."

Jan 11, 2026

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope 2026 is kinder to all of us than 2025 was.

I realize as I continue my writings that my life must sound incredibly chaotic—and to some, perhaps even horrifying—as I navigate the multi-layered challenges of caregiving. I share these stories not to complain, but to ensure that others have more tools than I did while navigating these turbulent waters. I’ve stopped asking, “Why me?” and started asking, “What’s the lesson?” I hope sharing my lessons helps you, too.

The truth is, I should have followed my instincts sooner.

When I returned from a long October weekend of clearing out my brother’s apartment in Atlanta, Ms. Joi, Mom’s caregiver, was moving slowly. You could tell she was in pain, but she was soldiering through; her arthritis was flaring. I told her, “Ms. Joi, if you need to take some time off, just say so.” She insisted she was fine, saying, “I need to be here for you and Mother.”

The first week of November marked the start of a downward spiral for both of us. She returned from a week-long girls trip with friends and could hardly move. The usually energetic woman was shuffling around the house, sitting on the couch much more than usual. While she made sure Mom was dressed and fed, all other tasks fell off quickly.

I knew something was wrong. I realized then that if she went down, we both went down because I didn’t have a backup caregiver. But with the pressure of work, an upcoming conference, my brother’s probate affairs, and trying to restart Mom’s physical therapy, I put off the search.

But the week before Thanksgiving, Ms. Joi was visibly ill. I told her to go home and stay there through the holiday. Suddenly, my world shifted. Thankfully, I work for an organization that is incredibly accommodating to remote work, so I set up shop at Mom’s dining room table.

My daily “split-brain” schedule looked like this:

8:30 AM: Start a wall of virtual meetings, using breaks to spend up to two hours cajoling Mom out of bed.
12:00 PM – 1:30 PM: Full stop on work to cook “breakfast,” organize medications, take vitals, and set her up in the den for the day.
1:30 PM – 5:00 PM: Another wall of meetings, managed between snacks, laundry, and sanitizing her room and bathroom.
5:00 PM – 7:30 PM: Prep and serve dinner, clean the kitchen, and prep her room for bedtime.
7:30 PM – 8:30 PM: Watch an hour of television with her and chat.
8:30 PM: Finally go home, drink a glass of wine to take the edge off, and get ready to start over.

Because I never secured weekend care, this became a 7-day-a-week marathon. I started desperately calling agencies and posted on Care.com. My cousin found a lovely woman, Fi, but she couldn’t start until January. I finally settled on an agency to cover weekends and holidays, praying Ms. Joi would return on Monday.

The agency sent a caregiver that weekend to “train,” but Mom didn’t like her. I asked for a replacement and kept making calls.

Ms. Joi did return the Monday after Thanksgiving, radiant and back to her old self. They had a ball—nails done, the first PT session with the new tech, everything back to normal. But by Tuesday morning, she sounded awful. She refused to go home, but when I arrived at 5:00 PM, I found her on the couch, barely conscious. I called the ambulance and she went to the ICU.

From December 3rd on, what was supposed to be a temporary inconvenience became a full-blown crisis. I needed to get back to work, I needed relief from the 7-day schedule, and I had a pre-paid vacation fast approaching with no one lined up to help.

Ultimately, my cousin saved the day by agreeing to cover my vacation week alongside the young woman we met in November. For Christmas week, I hired an agency caregiver; Mom didn’t like her, but we kept her. I kept telling Mom, “It’s temporary until Ms. Joi comes back,” which calmed her somewhat.

Photo by Nappy on Unsplash

Now, in January, Fi has started working Monday through Thursday, and I am still searching for weekend help. I’m still talking to agencies because they are supposed to provide coverage if someone calls out, but we haven’t landed a regular person yet. We’ve tried five caregivers in eight weeks.

This brings me to the hard lesson: In caregiving, “One is None.” Ms. Joi spoiled us in so many ways, but, if you have one caregiver you love, you actually have a single point of failure. Your survival and sanity depend on redundancies. Over the next few blogs, I’ll share what I’ve learned about private vs. agency care, setting schedules, and vetting for resilience. But for now, remember: build a team, not just a tether.

The Other Parenthood

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