I recently formed a very strong bond with a woman that I met
for around 4 minutes in a lift at Kingston Hospital. I overheard her speaking about
her Mother who no longer can swallow due to late stage dementia, therefore
cannot eat or drink. This means you would of course die. As with our family, this lady was given the
option of a PEG tube which feeds you through a stomach. Has medical science gone too far? Why would
you keep somebody alive that cannot walk, has a heart condition and with
dementia cannot do anything without the assistance of two people? Long life is a benefit of the 21st
Century. Soon we will all be expected to
reach one hundred years.
I felt the pain that this woman is going through; saw the
fear in her eyes. It’s a tough call to make. That is an understatement. It will
be one of the most difficult decisions of your life. The jury is out. Live or
die. Thankfully, my own mother has defied the doctors once more and
miraculously has begun eating and drinking again and enjoying it too. I passed
this information to my new best friend from the lift and hoped not to give her
false hope. The nurses and staff looking after my Mum said she is endeared by
her family; therefore not taking food for anybody in a uniform, but for us, she
could eat a horse with a cherry on top.
Senior care post-millennium has faced many
people with a new dilemma. Back in the 20th Century (boy, does that
make me sound old?), you would have your kids in your 20s, they would grow up
so by the time you were in your 40s, you could then stop looking after your own
offspring and start the “maternal” process
again of looking after your parents. Why not? They looked after us when we were
small, changed our nappies, wiped our noses, gave never ending love, kisses and
cuddles. They led us during our teenage years, helped us make big decisions and
regularly turned into the Bank of Mum and Dad. Only things are different now.
Quite a few of us have kids in our late thirties and forties, meaning our own
children are still small and need us when our parents’ health begins to
decline. At 47, I am in a full time job,
doing the school run, helping with homework, maintaining a household and
running a kids club in my own time. I now find myself also needing and wanting
to give my heart and soul to my Mum and Dad who both need me, more than
anything in the world. How can I desert them? Never in a million years. Instead
I battle with keeping my life as normal as possible whilst doing daily hospital
visits, spoon feeding my lovely mum, helping my dad with his stoma (if you don’t
know what that is, look it up! It’s grim, but thank goodness for it as it saved
my Dad’s life).
Can I scream yet? Can I wake up and have just been a bad
dream? Maybe I need a stint at the Priory. I am not looking for sympathy. This
is reality and it will happen to us all. I just feel eternally grateful that I
still have both of my parents. I know I am truly blessed.
One of the first things I learnt when I entered the world of
Financial Services that Life is assured because death is definitely going to
happen. There is no risk involved here, it is a fact. We are
all going to die. It’s just the prospect of losing my parents, even at the ripe
old age of 47, is too painful to contemplate.
