I WILL never forget Edward Fabish; he made me rich.

I never thought things would turn out this way. Eight years ago, I was working as a stenographer at the Manila Prosecutors’ Office in City Hall.

When I left my job, my bosses –all prosecutors, my colleagues, and fellow stenographers never thought I would take the job of a caregiver. They said I was not the type.

An officemate warned me not to take the job of caring for the elderly because I might become intellectually obtuse. They learned three years after I set foot in the United States of America that I became a millionaire.

I didn’t know I was the talk of the town until I got back in the country and someone told me people from my workplace were talking about my luck. News, indeed, travel fast.

But what happened to me, I guess, changed their prejudices on menial jobs, like caregiving. I also never planned on being a caregiver.

I ARRIVED in San Francisco December 13, 2000, after my husband, a Filipino born and raised in the US, petitioned me.

I met him in the Philippines, though his family is based in the US. Three days after I arrived, I started working in my husband’s office. The job was very temporary and I could not get work in law firms since I don’t have a local experience as stenographer or court employee.

Then I heard from our landlady’s friend that someone needed a caregiver. At once, I applied for the job. I started working “under the table,” or without credentials, earning $90 a day for staying five straight days in an elderly’s house.

On weekends, I took another caregiving job. I was rarely home during those days.

After three months, I was employed by a Filipino-owned agency where I got a higher rate of $145 a day taking care of another elderly woman. It was fortunate because I was looking for a much better salary.

The agency derives income from 5 percent of each caregiver’s monthly income. The good thing is that the commission they get from caregivers is very low. Caregivers also directly receive pay from clients before turning in the agency’s share.

On hindsight, my situation was better than other caregivers whose income is coursed through an agency. In other agencies, the cost of caring for an elderly is double its worth while in commission-based agencies the cost is lighter on the pockets.

But my service for the elderly woman was brief. It was fortunate, too, because “sakit sa ulo yung alaga kong yun” [She gave me headaches].

The agency then assigned me the third elderly I cared for, with the rate of $120 a day during weekends. That elderly was Edward Fabish, my first male patient.

EDWARD was of German-Irish descent and a Catholic like me. He was 88 and lived in West Portal, Bay Area of San Francisco. He used to be a railroad worker, doing heavy, manual labor until he had a hip fracture.

I took care of him for four-and-a-half days a week with the rate of $170 a day.

I cleaned his house, gave him medicine, cooked for him, and even washed his clothes. Though some of these chores were not required by the job, I did them nonetheless since I used to do them in the Philippines.

My first week with Edward was difficult. He couldn’t accept his condition and would shoo me away.

“I will jump from the window if you don’t let me go down by myself!” he yelled at me when I blocked his way at the top of the stairs going down to his garage.

“Go ahead, jump!” I yelled back. Though I never really meant what I said; I never moved from my spot. As a caregiver he hired, I was responsible for him. I would have to answer for whatever happened to him.

Edward was at the stage of denial because he used to be strong and able, judging from the framed photographs on the shelves and on the walls. Most of the pictures showed him in tip-top shape built through hard work.

EDWARD was unmarried and childless and with no other relatives except his younger sister who was also with a caregiver. Their brother, the youngest, had died before them.

Aside from his hip fracture, he had a catheter, a tube attached to his side where his urine passed through. He had it when I started taking care of him until the day he died. Whenever I would clean him, I would also clean the catheter and the catheter bag.

Taking care of him also meant encouraging him to do the things he used to do, like gardening and driving. I admit, though, I got nervous with him driving; we almost had two accidents. But he wanted to drive despite his physical limitations.

Edward was not that difficult to take care of, mind you, but I always had to be there with him.

He would have fallen several times had I failed to hold him up. Despite my being just above 4 feet, with Edward’s just a few inches taller, I was still able to help him walk or stand. If I had to go on an errand, I brought him with me – I walked beside him as he rode a scooter.

WHEN Edward’s sister, a spinster, died, he had my husband Gary and I live with him since he had no one. I volunteered to pay rent for our room because I didn’t want him to think I was abusing his kindness or that I was guilty of elderly abuse.

I also wanted to avoid the moment he becomes “goopy.”

You see, the elderly tend to become “goopy,” or start to lose themselves, suddenly changing attitudes.

Sometimes they would say their illness has returned, causing them pain. Sometimes it would come to a point where they would accuse you of robbing or taking advantage of them. From my experience, that’s how the elderly are. You really have to be patient with them.

But, yes, there are many cases of elderly abuse in America. If you’re found guilty, you’re dead. If the elderly does not feel like eating, you cannot force him to eat. If you leave or neglect him, dupe money out of him, verbally abuse him, you could be charged with elderly abuse.

That is because the elderly may not be able to report abuses done to them unless somebody, sometimes a fellow Filipino, reports it. So I paid Edward $300 in monthly rent, aside from sharing in paying the water, electricity, and telephone bills. That time, my job with the agency became seven days a week. I rarely rested.

Since I could not just leave him alone in his house, I brought him to family gatherings, usually hosted by my in-laws.

One day, the agency sent a reliever to take care of him on weekends. “I fired her,” Edward said when I came home not finding my reliever around.

He said he felt my reliever was not sincere and was after his money. That was how I ended up working 24/7 for Edward.