Ray Toothaker is a retired technology executive who divides his time between Yarmouth and Sarasota, Florida.

As Maine’s population ages, hospitals and doctors are only part of the healthcare equation. Equally essential are family members who step in when someone they love becomes seriously ill. I didn’t fully understand that until my 82-year-old sister spent nearly eight weeks in a Florida hospital.

Two days before my wife and I were scheduled to leave Florida and head back to Maine for the summer, I knew I couldn’t go until my sister agreed to go to the emergency room. She insisted she was just tired, but she couldn’t stop coughing, was short of breath and grew weaker by the day. I
remember thinking, “She’s much sicker than she realizes.”

None of us imagined that trip to the emergency room would keep her in the hospital for eight weeks. Her children were by her side for almost a month, but they live across the country, from Massachusetts to California. Eventually they had to return to their families and jobs.

About five weeks after my wife and I arrived in Maine, my wife looked at me and said something I’ll never forget. “You need to be with her.” Retirement gave me something my sister’s children couldn’t spare — time. So I flew back to Florida.

Doctors, nurses, therapists, aides, dietitians, housekeeping staff and many others helped my sister heal. But when the day’s treatment ended, another kind of care began.

Someone still had to pay bills, talk with insurance companies, organize paperwork, keep the family informed and prepare for life after the hospital. Those responsibilities never appeared on a medical chart, but they mattered just as much.

During my first two weeks back in Florida, she barely ate because of a painfully sore throat, mouth sores and no appetite. I worried she wouldn’t regain her strength without enough protein. Each day I asked if I could bring her something she felt she could eat. Finally, she agreed to let me bring her something soft that appealed to her.

We both grew up in New England, where seafood is a way of life. One day she said she was craving steamed clams, so I brought them to the hospital just as she was being transferred to rehabilitation. She smiled and said, “I’m not moving until I have my steamed clams.” After weeks of watching her struggle to eat, hearing her joke and seeing her enjoy one of her favorite meals felt like recovery.

The next day she smiled and asked, “Can you bring me a Maine lobster tomorrow?” After weeks of worrying whether she would eat at all, that sounded like hope.

Families celebrate victories unseen by most: a few bites of lunch, a longer walk down the hallway, a genuine laugh or finally being strong enough to leave the hospital for rehabilitation.

As I walked the hospital corridors, I often wondered about patients whose rooms were quiet. Who was helping them pay their bills? Who would help them when they went home? Who would pick up their prescriptions? Who would simply sit beside them?

Those questions matter everywhere, especially in Maine.

Maine has the nation’s oldest median age, while families are more geographically dispersed than ever. More older Mainers will face serious illness without a nearby son, daughter, sibling or spouse able to help.

My sister was fortunate. Her children were there when they could be. I’m retired and able to step in when they had to return home. Not every family has those options.

As Maine’s population ages and healthcare costs rise, we should recognize the enormous contribution family caregivers make every day. They are an essential part of our healthcare system, even though they rarely appear in budgets, reports or public discussions.

Before this, I thought healthcare happened inside a hospital. Now I know better. Hospitals treat illness. Families make recovery possible. As Maine grows older, we can’t afford to overlook either one.