When my wife Samantha and I first met, she told me she never expected to find a man strong enough for her. Not only physically strong – although I was that too – but also mentally and emotionally strong enough.
Ten years older than her, between 46 and 36 years old, I had already faced many setbacks in life, and apparently I passed the test. We got married a year after meeting in 2008.
For many years afterward, I was her protector and oversaw 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” might say this is an old-fashioned stereotype, I enjoyed 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 been a big adjustment for both of us.
In 2020, my health started to seriously deteriorate. A knee replacement in 2021, when I was 60, went poorly – I collapsed and lost consciousness after being discharged from the hospital – and other serious illnesses followed, including previously undiagnosed type 2 diabetesheart failure, edema (swelling due to fluid build-up) and nerve damage.
Osteoarthritis caused pain and mobility problems, but further surgeries on my hips and other knees also came with serious complications. In 2023 I was seriously ill with organ failure, and in the years that followed I was hospitalized for months. I’ve lost count of how many registrations there have been.
Through it all, Sam has been my biggest champion.
After 18 years of marriage, things are very different. Now Sam is my protector. And while I am grateful, it has been a big adjustment for both of us, says Pascal Rubinat
But last week, in these pages of the Mail, she wrote candidly about the toll that caring for me over the past five years has taken on her. Of the times the stress has left her in tears.
From the moment she wakes up, when she prepares my breakfast while I take the first ten of my twenty-plus daily tablets, to the moment we go to bed – when she gently massages my arthritic neck (which has a metal plate in it), feet and lower legs to soothe the pain – she takes care of my every need.
The past 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 makeup. I see the tiredness. The tension of not knowing when my health will deteriorate again. That I am not only my wife, but also my caregiver.
But they also changed me. The loss of the physical strength I once took pride in, and all that came with it, has hit me hard. While Sam suffers from “caregiver fatigue,” I have experienced the toll of being the one in constant care.
When we bought our dilapidated farmhouse in the Dordogne, in rural south-west France, in 2012, we joked that we had actually only bought the site, so much work was needed.
Our agreement was for Sam to earn the money while I renovated our house. I redid almost everything: new beams, the roof, the gutters, the electricity and the plumbing. I lifted each 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 to be done, I did it.
Sam was proud of my work and always told me so. And that made me proud again.
That is no longer the case. Now the man who rebuilt a farm 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 was once proud of, and everything that came with it, has hit me hard, says Pascal
Samantha and Pascal during their wedding in 2008, a year after they met
It has not been easy for me to accept this. Illness doesn’t just take away your health. It can take away your confidence, your pride, your independence – your sense of who you are. You can become depressed and even have suicidal thoughts.
It’s taken me some time to come to terms with the new dynamics in our marriage, to understand that just because I can no longer do what I once did doesn’t make me any less.
I have had no choice but to live with the changes in my life, but I find it impossible to fully accept my condition. The diseases have changed me; I have less patience and am much more demanding.
That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. Quite simply, I know I wouldn’t be alive without Sam.
She notices every change in my condition and every new symptom. She knows my medications, my appointments and which specialist to pursue. She has gotten appointments that even our doctor’s secretary couldn’t get. When it comes to my health, she is formidable.
When the process of obtaining my French disability card stalled, she personally marched me to the office. She knew that if the officials saw what it did to me just having to go from the general parking lot to the reception, they would understand what a form cannot explain. The card arrived a month later.
Through all the chaos and struggle – not to mention the endless administration that comes with a serious illness – she has taken on the physical work around the house that was once my job.
Last winter was particularly tough. Our farmhouse is heated by a wood stove, and in recent years I spent hours chopping and splitting wood with an axe.
Knowing I could no longer do this, I tried to plan ahead. We bought a log splitter and with Sam’s help I managed to chop and split some wood at the beginning of winter. But it wasn’t enough. She still had to go outside every day to cut, split and bring it in. A small farm in the countryside is hard work even for a healthy couple; it is considerably more difficult for an exhausted woman who does most of it alone.
Her career also had to pivot around my health. Although she must continue to work, she can no longer travel for on-screen appearances or accept photo shoots. I know she loves that side of her profession, and it’s a source of guilt for me.
There has been more heartbreak. Over the course of three years, we lost all seven of the dogs we started our married life with, 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, Sam had to take them to the vet on her own to be put to sleep as I was too unwell to go with her. Not having children, our dogs are family, and it was a lot for her to carry at a time when she was already carrying so much.
I couldn’t be there to hold her hand at the end, or drive the car as she cried in the passenger seat. Instead, I watched every time she drove home after scaring the car in her distress.
We recently adopted two rescue dogs, Dipi, a Belgian Malinois-cross collie, and Ela, a Spanish mastiff, who helped bring life back into the house.
I know how serious my illnesses are. Now that I’m 65, my life expectancy is five years. I’m not pessimistic about that; it’s realistic. I need to know that no matter what happens to me, Sam will have companionship, love, and two very great protectors. I also want to finish everything that needs to be done on our house before I leave.
With a ten year age difference, I always knew there would inevitably come a day when she would be without me. But when you find someone you love, you want to live as long as possible. I didn’t imagine our last years together like this.
While she takes care of everything that comes with my poor health, I in return do what I can to care for her. Last year, when I saw that she was struggling, 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 I was thrilled to see Sam become himself again.
Even though our lives may sound all doom and gloom, we still know how to live and have fun. Sam is always keen to keep the atmosphere ‘high vibe’, and mornings start with the radio blasting The Doors and Slade. We end the day cheerfully, together by the fire, cuddling with the dogs. I recently bought her a karaoke machine – even though, believe me, she can’t carry a tune – so she and her sisters could sing along to Dolly Parton every night during family visits.
I’m proud of what I built for us, but I’m even prouder of the life that Sam held together when I couldn’t anymore. She is a phenomenal woman and I admire her courage and fortitude; I’m guilty of not telling her often enough. It can be hard to keep admitting how much I depend on her.
I once had a roof over Sam’s head. Now she keeps the ground stable under my feet.
- Click to read Samantha’s side of the story HERE
