I want to write all of the details to process what happened today, but I should not. I can only share how hard it is to be in the situation many “adult children” are — in seeing a parent in poor health getting worse and worse, and the other unable to take care of them. I am glad I was here to handle this morning only because I can’t imagine what would have happened if I wasn’t. What would have happened if I hadn’t woken up to cries for help at 5am or the decisions that came after.
This isn’t to say I acted fast enough, or that today’s actions will fix an ongoing problem, even if his health is recovered to the best it can be in his condition. As parents age, especially those who are already stubbornly-minded, it can be hard to discern between typical stubbornness/anger/etc, and a shift in mental state. You want them to tell you what they want — but they might not know what is best for them in that given moment. But they still have ability to turn down medical care unless you can convince them otherwise, even if turning down that care puts their life at risk.
It is unfortunate that in the best case we all get to that point one day — where we can no longer take care of ourselves. We hope we have loved ones or the financial resources to ensure our requests for treatment in those times are held true. But we don’t really know what we’ll want. In the moment, pain may change our thinking. Our bodies may push for something overrides our desire to live. When should we force a fight, and when should we give in?
Having a parent with a terminal illness is challening. It’s challenging if you have a good relationship with that parent and it’s challenging if you have a not-so good relationship with that parent. With a terminal illness, you’re often given a prognosis of how long you’re going to live. When that time comes and passes, the doctors celebrate — they’ve done their job. They’ve “extended” your life. And, with every passing day/week/month you become more of an anomaly than celebration. You know your time could be up any day, but then there is a confusing hope you have that maybe you’ll be the exception. Maybe, somehow, you’ll beat the odds…
But health is a funny thing. What you thought would get you in the end may not be the issue that defeats you after all. You may be sick with cancer and die of a heart attack or infection or something else. You may be fit as a fiddle with no warning signs and one night just never wake up. We’re all headed towards death but we avoid discussing it in our culture and pretend it doesn’t exist until we’re confronted with it head on.
I’m worried about my father, but unable to do much about it. I feel good that I happened to be here this week to make the judgement call to get him to the hospital. I’m glad, in a way, even though he has been fighting to try to leave the hospital, he cannot walk right now, so he is unable to leave on his own. I am terrified that, with nine weeks left to my due date, 9 weeks or less left to my father getting to meet his first grandchild, at least by Skype, he won’t make it. But I’m equally afraid of his anger causing harm to my child.
I try my best to be empathetic. It’s extremely hard. I know he is hurting, emotionally and physically, and has been for a while. But the rage and blame is hard to just ignore. Once there was some shame in this — there was a desire to keep that hidden behind closed doors. Now, it’s out in the open. There is no more reason to hide behavior that seems to be that of a scared child who must lash out in order to feel any semblance of control. I’m sad for him. I’m sad for all of us. I want him to get better. I don’t know how to be a good child right now — I left the hospital because I felt the stress was too much on my 31-week pregnant body. I burst a blood vessel in my eye. I felt short of breath. My blood pressure is fine for now. I am unsure of how to handle the situation and want to help but now what help can I offer, if it is not wanted or appreciated?
life with interest 