Caring for my diabetic father – A caregiver’s journey

My name is Lisa, and the following is an account of my experiences as a caregiver for my diabetic father.

My father’s diagnosis

I didn’t think much about diabetes until it became a part of my family’s life.

I grew up in Mumbai in an Indian-Kenyan household. Natural food was one of the things my father considered important, and we celebrated with food, bonded over it, and used it to express love (especially during family gatherings).

But when my father was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, everything changed.

I was 21 years old at the time and an only child. My Kenyan mother wasn’t with us most of the time, and that made things hard for me. My father’s family was there for us and provided financial support, but they weren’t living with us.

At 67, my father was stubborn, proud, and deeply rooted in habits. He drank alcohol sometimes and didn’t exercise regularly (he thought exercise was for the young and that he was past the age of doing it). But my father’s diabetes diagnosis meant that my father’s favourite food became a threat to his health, his diet had to change, and he needed to exercise.

However, convincing my father to change the way he eats, exercises, and takes care of himself has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do (not even considering trying to make him stop drinking).

As his primary caregiver and only daughter, I’ve found myself caught between respecting his independence and trying to make sure he stays healthy.

Getting started

When my father was first diagnosed with diabetes, he dismissed it. He wasn’t ready to accept that he was a diabetic and that his lifestyle was going to be limited – I could see and feel how heartbroken he was.

He wasn’t ready to follow his doctor’s instructions and believed that as long as he felt fine, there was nothing to worry about. He even bought a glucometer to avoid going to the clinic.

However, my father’s family had a history of diabetes. And I’d seen first-hand the long-term effects of complications that had started small but become life-threatening over time. I’d also started learning and studying more about diabetes after I’d heard his diagnosis.

I tried to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t just about managing high sugar levels. That it was also about protecting his heart health, kidney functions, and long-term well-being.

But no matter what I said, he was still convinced that diabetes was just a minor disease and a minor inconvenience and that with some home remedies and a bit of willpower, he could fix it.

That’s where the struggle to change began.

Managing his diet

Indian food is delicious, but to be honest, I don’t think it’s the healthiest (especially not for diabetics). My father’s favourite meals were aloo paratha with butter, steaming plates of basmati rice, deep-fried pakoras, and sweets like rasgulla and jalebi. For him, even the thought of giving these up felt like an injustice, and he wasn’t ready to let go.

I clearly remember one day, we argued at the dinner table because I served him a plate with brown rice instead of white. He pushed it away, saying, “I’ve been eating white rice my whole life. Now, suddenly it’s bad for me?”

Festivals were another challenge. During Diwali, his relatives and friends would insist that he ate “just one piece” of barfi. My father would look at me, hesitate, and then take it. But “just one piece” would soon turn into 2, then 3, before he remembered what he was risking.

How do you tell an elder in an Indian family that they can’t enjoy the food they’ve eaten their entire life?

I told myself that forcing drastic changes wouldn’t work. That while it wasn’t easy for him, with time and constant monitoring he would eventually accept that he was a diabetic and had to change his diet.

So, I started making subtle adjustments based on conversations with his doctor, internet research, and my own way of handling him. For example, without telling him, I:

• made rotis with multigrain flour instead of wheat.
• replaced sugar with stevia in his tea.
• learned to cook healthier versions of his favourite dishes.

At first, he didn’t notice the difference. And by the time he did, he’d already become used to them and accepted them.

Integrating home remedies

Like many older Indians, my father believed deeply in natural remedies. He often argued with me and asked why he should take tablets from hospitals and clinics when neem leaves, methi seeds and karela juice alone were enough to cure anything.

I respect Ayurveda, and I love our cultural beliefs. But I know diabetes isn’t something you can cure with just bitter juice – I had to convince him that modern medicine wasn’t an enemy but a necessity and that it was more effective, reliable and had a proven record of success.

At first, he used to pretend that he had forgotten to take his medication. Sometimes, he’d secretly skip it when I wasn’t around, thinking he didn’t need it as much as he needed Ayurveda.

I had to watch him closely and remind him every day – Which I did because he’s my father and I love him.

Eventually, we had a conversation, and he agreed that he could continue his Ayurvedic remedies, but only if he also took his prescribed medicine. That compromise worked (though deep down I didn’t like it).

Supporting his mental health

One evening, I found my father sitting alone at the dinner table staring at his food without touching it. When I asked him what was wrong, he asked me what was the point of living such a limited life?

He was on the verge of giving up.

That moment broke me, and I hugged him and cried. I had to convince him that he wasn’t alone and that I was there for him.

That moment also helped me understand something – Diabetes isn’t just a physical disease. It takes a toll on mental health as well. The constant restrictions, the fear of complications, the feeling of losing control… All of it was weighing him down, and while I’d been focusing on his body, I’d forgotten his mind.

From that day on, I began treating him like a partner in his health journey rather than a patient. So, we set small goals together. I allowed him occasional treats as long as he balanced them with exercise. And I reminded him that his health wasn’t just for him but that it mattered for all of us who loved him.

Final thoughts

For my father, every small victory is a step forward. Whether it’s taking his medicine without arguing, going for a short walk, or finding ways to not just live with diabetes but thrive despite it.

And for me, every moment I spend taking care of him is a reminder that love isn’t just expressed through words but also in actions, sacrifices, and the little things we do to be there for those we love.

And today, my father is living a happy life.