Vol 98: Raising parents
Raising parents is hard work. In the Caribbean and perhaps in other locations and cultures as well, children and their parents, under the best of circumstances, maintain an inextricably close bond. But what parents fail to remember is that when they reach a certain age, their children take charge and assume responsibility for their care.
This unwritten rule, however, is brushed aside as parents who think they’re still running their lives consistently go out and, like an animal unleashed, stay out far beyond their bedtime. And when you call, they take their own sweet time answering the phone, if they decide to answer at all. Imagine that - the most important person in their life calling and they’re not running to pick up.
Shame on them. Such brazen, disrespectful behavior and blatant insubordination should honestly be illegal. When you tell the story to others, it may inspire a chuckle or two, but when it’s personal, it is no laughing matter. And in my case, it's personal. Such are the troubles and woes of a child ignored - not my physical presence and needs mind you, just my relentless pleas for them to behave.
The situation requires drastic measures. So, I’m now researching how to implant monitoring chips into my mom and aunts because they’re from Long Island and about as unruly an alliance that one can possibly imagine.
Case in point, one aunt constantly leaves her cell phone in the back trunk of her car, another one’s been travelling for several blasphemous months and still hasn’t come home and my other aunt doesn’t use cell phones at all. Then there’s my mom, the ringleader of their little gang. Back and forth from one end of the island to the next, often busy and still looking for more things to do. It’s incomprehensible that they don’t realize that unless they’re travelling with us, their beloved children and reason for existence, they should be home by 5pm. Today is a day for confessions. The poisoned pen has been unleashed and, with the blessing of the Holy Spirit, I confess that raising parents is hard work.
There is, I’ll admit, a healthy dose of narcosis injected into such expectations but life is not what it used to be and criminals are always in search of their next victim. Fortunately, my mom and aunts are all healthy with sound mind and body. I’m fully aware that others could only wish to be so lucky.
One such patient comes to mind. Her elderly mother was robbed and brutally raped in a situation still so traumatic that, several years later, she can’t bring herself to share her story anonymously because of all the painful memories it evokes. Criminals, you see, don’t just victimize one person, it’s that person and all of their closest loved ones who suffer. A single incident can change the dynamics of close relationships for years as loved ones tiptoe around memories that might cause a relapse or a re-awakening of pain.
I’m also reminded of a patient highlighted in one of my earlier reports (when tomorrow never comes). She lost eleven members of her family in less than two years but it was the deaths of her baby and her mother that truly broke her. No parent is ever supposed to bury a child and one child’s death is one too many.
Yet there is also something indescribable about the loss of a parent, regardless of age or condition, for no one will ever love you longer or as unconditionally. I can attest to this pain after being forced four years ago into the dark echo chamber of fatherless sons. But today, I’d like to focus on children who become caregivers of their ailing parents. It’s something I see practically on a daily basis and it’s a captivating circle-of-life scenario not often discussed.
I truly never understood the saying ‘once a man, twice a child’ until I became a doctor. Perhaps before that I wasn’t paying close enough attention to what others were dealing with but in the medical field, it’s obvious. You’re a child, grow up, have kids and then when advancing age and poor health collide, your children should take care of you for the remainder of your life. That’s not always the case, however.
I often treat parents who have to get a ride to my office from neighbors because their children are too busy to bring them. And then I watch as they wait for over an hour in the lobby, after their visit is over, waiting for someone else to pick them up. Their eyes are filled with tears but they continue to make excuses for inexcusable behavior.
Such is the love of a parent I suppose.
Then there are children who call to make the appointment on behalf of their parents, assist them into the treatment room, listen attentively and ask questions as the other children who couldn’t make it to the appointment are calling for an update. Some doctors get annoyed when the children of patients ask a lot of questions but I love it because I understand it. Their concern comes from fear and that fear is deeply rooted in love. It’s obvious to me that those parents are well cared for and loved, which in turn makes my job easier since they typically exhibit the best treatment outcomes.
I don’t imagine any parent wants to be dependent on their children, or be what they perceive as burdensome, no matter how caring their children may be. The loss of one’s independence is a hard pill to swallow but there are a host of medical co-morbidities that render one’s desires for autonomy relatively impotent. Alzheimer’s dementia is one such example.
One of my patients is the primary caregiver to both of her parents; one who is bedridden and the other who is suffering with symptoms from dementia so badly that he’s forgotten how to use the bathroom and can rarely recall his own name. It's a full-time job so stressful that it was taking a toll on her own health until my office manager connected her with social services for support.
In ancient Egypt, men were the primary caregivers of their elderly parents. Today, that role has been almost exclusively delegated to women who are still tasked with raising children and maintaining the household. Despite this, women outlive men in almost every society throughout the world. It’s certainly true in my family’s profile. My grandfather, dad and all of my uncles, except for one, are deceased. So, I’ve become the watchdog but the watchdog has no bark with this crew. Perhaps it’s because they are healthy and active and continue to feel that they have more life to live and simply don’t want to be told how to live it. But parents will be parents and children will be children.
Today I salute all the parents who don’t ignore their children’s requests to be courteous, thoughtful and follow instructions. I also stand at attention and salute the children who have to take care of their parents when their health declines. Being a caregiver is a difficult task with few rewards and even less gratitude except in those cases where the parent is still cognizant enough to know their offspring is looking after them. In those cases, their parent’s gratitude is resoundingly enough.
My take home message to those caregivers is a sincere thanks for all they do and also a word of encouragement to seek assistance from resources outside of their family like those made available from the government or their church. One person shouldn’t carry the entire load.
Recently, I called my grand-aunt, my grandfather’s baby sister, to check on her and see how her day was. It was 6pm and she couldn’t talk for long because at the age of 93 she was headed to bingo at church. I was told to call her back the following day because she didn’t intend to be home until very late. She also failed to mention how she was getting to and from said event and who would be accompanying her during this night of frolic.
Siblings aren’t much better. While my older sister got the memo and behaves reasonably well on most occasions, my younger sister is a wildfire. Trouble from the day she was born. I say go left and she wants to go right. I say stay home and at 2am she’s dancing on Bay Street for Junkanoo. Too much Long Island DNA in her blood. Throw in a mix of crazy cousins and it’s a miracle I’m not an alcoholic.
But in our family, we’re raised by everyone in our family – our mothers, fathers, grandparents, older cousins and all our aunts and uncles each have a hand in molding who we are. So, when the tables are turned and we raise our parents, the load is shared and as exhausting as it may be, I honestly couldn’t imagine having it any other way.
This is The KDK Report.
