When a Career in Caregiving Finds You: Chris Niedbala

Some “things” are simply meant to be.
Chris joining Take Care was one of those destined paths.
 
As we saw a few recent “Christmas in July” promotions from area retailers, the Take Care team was reminiscing about our most recent holiday breakfast meeting. While we always enjoy the opportunity to gather together for company meetings and celebrate with “decadent” details, the sweetest aspects of our 2025 holiday breakfast were sharing sessions from three dedicated members of our nursing and caregiving team.  
 
Chris Niedbala, a caregiver who marked 10 years with us during Take Care’s 30th anniversary year, was kind enough to share his personal story – from teacher, to “patient,” to loved one turned caregiver within his own family – all meaningful journeys which have shaped the kindness, understanding, professionalism, and unique wit and charm that Chris delivers daily in his current role as a caregiver serving Take Care Private Duty Home Health Care clients.  
 
We couldn’t possibly do his story justice, so Chris was kind enough to share his story–in his own words.*  

Good morning, everyone. Thank you, Sue, and to your daughters, Erica and Courtney, for inviting me to speak today and be part of this annual breakfast meeting. It’s truly an honor to be here celebrating Take Care’s 30th year. Thirty years is no small milestone, and it reflects a level of commitment, leadership, and heart that has shaped this company from the beginning.

When I think about my beginning, what brought me to Take Care, I realize my path began long before I even knew it.

My earliest exposure to this kind of work started when I saw my family caring for my dad’s sister, who had severe cerebral palsy. First my grandparents, but when they could no longer do so, I watched my mom rely on her own experience as a CNA to fill the gaps. Seeing her feed and bathe my aunt: that was true dedication.

I also saw my dad spend years helping adults with disabilities find jobs that gave them independence and purpose. For a while, some of them even lived with us, and our home became a place where people could feel stable and seen.

I didn’t know it then, but those experiences were shaping the way I saw people, responsibility, and compassion. It wasn’t just my family that taught me, though—my own life added a few chapters.

In 2012, I had serious, life-threatening complications after surgery and spent almost two months in the hospital. Being on the receiving end of care opened my eyes in a way nothing else could. I saw the dedication, perspective, and humanity of the nursing staff up close.

And later, in 2015 and 2016, that came full circle when I helped my own parents recover—one from heart bypass surgery and one from a double mastectomy. Those months were long, and they were humbling, but they reminded me what support truly looks like.

Thinking I could do more, I considered pursuing a career in nursing—maybe as an LPN, but I wasn’t sure where I could make the biggest impact. Going back to school at my age felt daunting. Would it even be the right path for me?

Coincidentally, my sister was working at Take Care at the time and suggested that starting as a caregiver could give me firsthand experience and help me figure it out. I took her advice, applied, and was hired almost immediately. Before I knew it, I was in the field, ready to save the world! Or… maybe not quite yet.

I still remember my first day in this role. I started with Take Care back in October of 2016, and I’ll be honest—I didn’t walk in full of confidence. I remember wondering if I’d even make it through the first day—let alone the first week!

And my very first client on my own is something I will never forget.

He was receiving hospice care, mostly unresponsive, and his wife was home with us. I walked in, trying to look calm and professional, but inside I was completely overwhelmed.

I was attempting bed care for the first time. My gloves were too small and kept ripping—I was sweating, perhaps even panicking a bit, all while trying to keep it together in front of family members who were in uncharted territory themselves.

At that time, I didn’t even know how to ask for what I needed—mostly because I didn’t know what I needed. After the shift ended, I called Sue and said something to the effect of, “I don’t think this is for me.”

But Sue encouraged me and helped me see that I shouldn’t give up that easily. The next shift, she sent an experienced team member to support me.

The caregiver gave me pointers, showed me what I could do, and stayed long enough for things to feel less frightening and more possible. After that, I continued on my own.

And over the next days, something shifted. Even though I wasn’t perfect, even though I was brand new, I saw that my presence mattered.

The client may not have been aware, but his wife saw that I showed up. The hospice staff noticed. And when he eventually passed, his wife thanked me deeply for the care I had provided—care I was still hoping I was offering “right.”

That moment taught me something I’ve carried with me ever since: sometimes just being there—being steady, being kind, being willing—is what truly matters. And that was the moment I thought maybe I could do this work after all.

I also realized very quickly that the fundamentals of this work are rooted in teamwork. No one succeeds alone.

We are always learning from each other—whether it’s a technique, a new approach to helping someone, or simply how to communicate more effectively in a challenging moment. That shared knowledge is what allows us to give our clients the best of ourselves.

And the clients themselves… well, they teach us just as much! Many have had extraordinary careers; others lived quiet but deeply meaningful lives—and all of them carry wisdom. If we pay attention, they show us what resilience looks like, what humor looks like, what grace under pressure looks like. Every client brings something different, and that’s part of what makes this work so special.

Over time, I realized more and more this work was never about flawless techniques. It was about presence—about meeting someone exactly where they are in that moment. When you do that, something changes. The checklist fades, and the human being in front of you becomes the center of everything.

That perspective shaped every client I cared for afterward. It tied back to the values my parents raised me with, and it drew on things I learned living and teaching in Japan: slowing down, paying attention, and understanding that people communicate their needs in different ways.

This work also requires sensitivity to time, place, and occasion. Every time we walk into a client’s home, we are stepping into their private world. We have to respect that space—understand their routines, their boundaries, their personality. Even if we’ve seen similar situations before, even if our skills carry over, each person is still an individual. They deserve to be met as who they are, not as an assumption of who we think they might be.

Finally, I understood: this job isn’t a set of skills. It’s a lifelong practice—one that builds your patience, stretches your empathy, and keeps humbling you in all the right ways.

As part of this journey, I also came to understand my limits, too, because in this work, good performance brings more responsibilities, and part of the job is knowing how to balance that with our own well-being.

And that is all to say the really important parts of this job—the parts that matter most—aren’t taught in a classroom. They’re learned in the hours spent with those we support: in conversations, in quiet moments, in problem-solving together, in learning how to help not just physically, but emotionally. That’s where real growth happens.

Why am I still here at Take Care after 10 years?
Because this work matters.
Because I’ve grown in ways I never expected.
Because the flexibility allows me to create a life that works for me.
Because the support system here is real—nurses, schedulers, management—all of you make this possible.
Because the clients have changed me.
Because every day teaches me something new.
And because Take Care feels like a place where what you give actually matters.

Thirty years is a long time for any company—especially one built on compassion, service, and trust. It speaks to Take Care’s values, its leadership, and its people.

I’m grateful to be a small part of that legacy—one voice, one story among many—and for the clients, the lessons, and the people who believed in me, sometimes before I believed in myself.

Before I close, I want to give a special shout-out to the department I spend the most time talking to: Scheduling! Take Care is the only place I know where schedulers can perform real magic—like turning an eight-hour day into a twelve-hour shift, armed only with a phone, sheer willpower, and the faint glimmer of hope that everything will somehow work out.

But behind the humor, we know the truth: their work keeps clients supported, keeps all of us moving, and makes the impossible look routine. They deserve a lot of credit.

And last but not least, a special thank you to the whole team, our management, the nurses, the schedulers, Sue and the family, the whole village that makes this work possible.

*Those present that morning may notice that Chris might have ad-libbed quite a few additional stories and loving jokes! But these written reflections are certainly true to the heart of his story and the invaluable place he holds as part of the Take Care family. 

Thank you again, Chris, for sharing your beautiful reflections.