Бывший «альфа-самец» признался, что теперь его жена стала его главным ухаживающим из-за тяжелых болезней

My wife is ten years younger than me. I was the alpha male who swept her off her feet… but now she's my carer. This is how my illness has changed me - it wasn't supposed to be like this: PASCAL RUBINAT By PASCAL RUBINAT Updated: When my wife Samantha and I first met, she told me she never expected to find a man strong enough for her. Not just physically strong – though I was that – but strong enough mentally and emotionally, too. Ten years older than her, at 46 to her 36, I had already weathered plenty of life’s struggles, and apparently I passed the test. A year after meeting, we married in 2008. For many years after that I was her protector, overseeing all the physical tasks in our lives. I have always had charisma and a strong presence; when I walk into a room, everyone immediately knows I’m there. While some ‘modern men’ may say this is an old-fashioned stereotype, I liked being that man. It suited me, and I think it suited Sam too. But after 18 years of marriage, things are very different. Now, Sam is my protector. And while I’m grateful, it’s proved a big adjustment for both of us. In 2020, my health began to severely deteriorate. A knee replacement in 2021, when I was 60, went badly – I collapsed and lost consciousness after being discharged – and other serious illnesses followed, including previously undiagnosed type 2 diabetes, heart failure, oedema (swelling due to build-up of fluid) and nerve damage. Osteoarthritis caused me pain and mobility problems, but further operations to my hips and other knee also came with serious complications. By 2023, I was gravely ill and experiencing organ failure, and in the years since I’ve spent months at a time in hospital. I’ve lost count of how many admissions there have been. Through it all, Sam has been my fiercest champion. After 18 years of marriage, things are very different. Now, Sam is my protector. And while I’m grateful, it’s proved a big adjustment for both of us, says Pascal Rubinat But last week, on these pages in the Mail, she wrote frankly about the toll that looking after me these past five years has taken on her. Of the times the strain has left her in tears. From the moment she wakes up, when she prepares my breakfast while I take the first ten of my more than 20 daily tablets, to when we go to bed – when she gently massages my arthritic neck (which has a metal plate in it), feet and lower legs to ease the pain – she attends to my every need. The last few years have changed her. I can see it in her face, and not just because I can’t remember the last time she wore make-up. I see the tiredness. The strain of not knowing when my health will get worse again. Of being not just my wife, but my carer. But they have changed me, too. The loss of the physical strength I once prided myself on, and all that came with it, has hit me hard. While Sam is suffering from ‘carer fatigue’, I have experienced the toll of being the one constantly needing to be cared for. When we bought our tumbledown farmhouse in the Dordogne, in rural south-west France, in 2012, we joked that all we had really bought was the site, such was the level of work needed. Our agreement was that Sam earned the money while I renovated our home. I remade almost everything: new beams, the roof, guttering, electrics and plumbing. I raised every lintel to turn the original, impossibly low doorways into full-height openings. I built new rooms from the ground up. I was strong, fit and capable, and if something – anything – needed doing, I did it. Sam was proud of my work and always told me so. And that made me proud in turn. That is no longer the case. Now, the man who rebuilt a farmhouse has to wait – not always patiently – while his wife runs around the hospital looking for a wheelchair for him. The loss of the physical strength I once prided myself on, and all that came with it, has hit me hard, says Pascal Samantha and Pascal during their wedding in 2008, one year after meeting each other It has not been easy for me to accept this. Illness doesn’t only take away your health. It can take away your confidence, your pride, your independence – your very sense of who you are. You can become depressed and even have suicidal thoughts. It has taken me some time to come to terms with the new dynamic in our marriage, to understand that being unable to do the things I once did does not make me any lesser. I’ve had no choice but to live with the changes in my life, but I find it impossible to fully accept my condition. The illnesses have changed me; I have less patience and am far more demanding. That’s not to say I’m not grateful. Quite simply, I know I would not be alive without Sam. She notices every change in my condition and every new symptom. She knows my medication, my appointments and which specialist needs to be chased. She has obtained appointments that even our doctor’s secretary could not get. When it comes to my health, she is formidable. When the process of getting my French disability card had stalled, she marched me down to the offices in person. She knew that if the officials saw what simply getting from the general car park to their front desk did to me, they would understand what a form could not explain. A month later, the card arrived. Throughout all the chaos and strife – not to mention the endless administration that comes with serious illness – she has taken on the physical work around the home that was once my purview. Last winter was particularly hard. Our farmhouse is heated by a wood-burner, and in past years I’d spend hours at a time cutting and splitting wood with an axe. Knowing I could no longer do this, I’d tried to plan ahead. We bought a log splitter and, with Sam’s help, I managed to cut and split some wood at the beginning of the winter. But it wasn’t enough. She still had to go outside to cut, split and bring it in daily. A rural smallholding is hard work for even a healthy couple; it is considerably harder for one exhausted woman doing most of it alone. Her career has had to bend around my health as well. While she needs to keep working, she can no longer travel for onscreen appearances or accept opportunities involving photoshoots. I know she loves that side of her profession, and it’s a source of guilt for me. There has been other heartbreak. Over the course of three years, we lost all seven of the dogs with whom we had begun our married lives, including Godzilla, our fox terrier who we had bottle-fed since he was two days old to keep him alive. As age and illness caught up with them all in turn, Sam had to take them to the vet by herself to be put to sleep as I was too unwell to go with her. With no children, our dogs are family, and it was a lot for her to bear at a time when she was already carrying so much. I could not be there to hold her hand at the end, or drive the car while she cried in the passenger seat. Instead, I watched each time as she drove home, on one occasion having pranged the car in her distress. We recently took on two rescue dogs, Dipi, a Belgian malinois cross collie, and Ela, a Spanish mastiff, which helped to bring life back into the house. I know how serious my illnesses are. Now aged 65, my life expectancy is five years. That’s not me being pessimistic; it’s being realistic. I need to know that, whatever happens to me, Sam will have company, love and two very large protectors. I also want to finish everything that still needs doing to our home before I go. With our ten-year age gap, I always knew the day would inevitably come when she would be without me. But when you find someone you love, you want to live for as long as possible. I did not picture our final years together like this. As she manages all that comes with my poor health, I do what I can to look after her in return. When I could see she was struggling last year I contacted one of her nieces and arranged for her to stay for a week. She was a ray of sunshine – the house seemed to fill with light again – and watching Sam become herself once more delighted me. While our life may sound all doom and gloom, we still know how to live and have fun. Sam is always on about keeping things ‘high vibe’, and mornings start with the radio blasting out The Doors and Slade. We end the day on a happy note, together in front of the fire, cuddling the dogs. Recently, I bought her a karaoke machine – though believe me, she cannot carry a tune – so she and her sisters could warble along to Dolly Parton every evening during family visits. I am proud of what I built for us, but I am prouder still of the life Sam has held together when I no longer could. She is a phenomenal woman and I admire her courage and her fortitude; I’m guilty of not telling her that often enough. It can be hard to keep admitting how much I depend on her. I once kept our roof over Sam’s head. Now she keeps the ground steady beneath my feet. - To read Samantha's side of the story, click HERE