Live or Let Die

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 21^st 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 20^th 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.