It’s a Tuesday afternoon and I am 673 miles from my children, my husband, my home and my faithful four-legged friend – not to mention the office.
The last time I pushed someone to get somewhere was a couple of years ago. My daughter was nearly 5. She weighed about 17 kilos and was approximately 110 cms tall. This time, I am pushing a 69-year-old man who weighs 85 kilos (and dropping) and is 182 cms tall. The handles on the wheelchair I am pushing are made of a hard unyielding plastic which make my palms sore. And the wheels don’t swivel nearly as easily as my daughter’s old pram.
This person I am pushing and tending to these days is my dad. And he seems quite content to rely on me to get him around. Now that I am here with him, he has given up trying to hide exactly how unwell he is. Living alone, he hasn’t answered the phone in 4 weeks, using email and text messages to respond to my calls. Then, a brief email from him told me that he was being hospitalized for some tests, that he would be fine and to come over to visit when he is better.
When I arrive three days later I am given a fuller picture. He hasn’t eaten for days; he is dehydrated and was semi delirious with a fever of 42 centigrade on admission. The only way to get the fever down was to pack him in ice. Under constant monitoring, with drips for medication and hydration, the medical team was unable to test him for anything, as he was too unwell. Now it is a few days later and we are able to leave his room, him in the wheelchair, to get the other check-ups done that he needs.
Relieved to be with him and to know that he is safe and stabilised, I come and go from the hospital to coincide with the doctor’s ward visiting times. And I have time to reflect on what I am achieving by being here. Caring is not the word that I use when I think about this week – all I know is that I couldn’t be anywhere else and feel “right.” Caring is just the inevitable consequence of what happens when you love someone — and they need you.
The effect of this care is that the people I support on a regular basis — my children, my work staff, my husband and pup — go without me for as long as we all can stand it. It’s a tug-of-war. And no one wins, especially me. My needs come last.
This is the life of the Sandwich Generation. The push and pull from all the people who need you. The endless stress and worry that I’m not doing enough to help any of them. The fatigue. I am not the first to blaze this trail, but at times I still feel very much alone.
But when Dad looks at me with the half-smile he can muster, and pats my hand, I know I’m in the right place – right now.
What about you? Are you a “sandwich” carer, with childcare and elderly care responsibilities? Get in touch to tell me about your care stories.
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Life In The Middle: Sandwich Caring
Sigrid Daniel talk about caring for those you love - both your children and elderly parents - and how this has come to be known as sandwich caring.
