“When you get little, and I get big, you can sit in the back seat and I will sit in the front” one of my older sisters is rumored to have said when she was a preschooler. We have chuckled about this over the years, and it was brought up again recently, when my mother and I picked up my eldest sister at the train station for a long weekend visit. I was the driver, and my mother insisted on riding in the back, finally fulfilling the prophesy spouted off by a cranky four-year old, some fifty years ago.
It’s a curious thing, this circle of life. One day you are a child, the next you have children of your own. Another blink of an eye and your children are grown, and giving you advice as freely as you once gave them, with the same reception. An eye-roll, perhaps, or some other outward expression of indifference or annoyance. Yet, ultimately the advice or command is usually followed because you know that this person is one of the few in the world who loves you unconditionally, and says these things out of love and concern for your well-being as you have always done for them. As a nurse, I’ve seen this over and over again. The majority of the patients on the floor I work on are elderly, and sometimes confused. Sometimes it’s from a change in their surroundings, sometimes it’s medication induced, sometimes dementia, but mostly it’s a combination. All nurses know that when an elderly patient becomes restless or agitated, it’s best to call in a family member. Most often it is one of the children. The “child” is quite often elderly themselves, as it is not uncommon for our patients to be well into their 90’s. The daughter or the son usually comes in regardless, even in the middle of the night.
“Mom! What’s this I hear about you giving these nurses a hard time?” is quite often the first thing I hear as they enter, a feeling of peace descending upon the room. Occasionally, the patient will have such an advanced case of Alzheimer’s that they might not recognize the family member, but still, there is some thing there. A discernment of spirit; soul to connected soul. Sometimes the presence of a family member can cause the patient to become more upset, because they want to go home with them, but I’ve seen this more when a spouse leaves, than with the children. The child holds a connection and authority that the spouse does not. Many times on the way out one of them, usually a daughter, will sidle up to the desk, and as a mother does when leaving instructions for a baby-sitter say, “now, you call me if she gives you any more trouble, and if she won’t take her pills, tell her I said that she must. ”
Now, don’t think that we as nurses don’t use this to our advantage, a scenario that goes something like this; “I know you don’t want to take your medication, Mrs. Smith, but Ruth said that you should take it. ” “Oh Ruth! ” Mrs. Smith will scoff, swatting at the air with a hand worn smooth from a lifetime of loving. “She’s so bossy! Always has been.” Yet, the hand tips for the medication and the mouth opens for the water to wash them down.
It makes me wonder about my own days ahead. Already, my adult children give me advice and admonishment, which is not always unwarranted. I already know who will be the “bossy” one. That status unquestionably goes to my daughter. With a commanding presence and a quickness of step, I can just see her now, bustling into my hospital room, a plant in her hands (so much more practical than flowers!), 50 years from now, where I will quite possibly be languishing in bed. “Mom! It’s time to get up.” I’m pretty sure she will say, snapping open the window shades. “Breakfast will be here soon and I want you to sit in the chair and have a good meal before you take your medication. Then, we will walk in the hall, while we wait for the doctor to round and see what the plan is.” No doubt, I will be ready for breakfast, up in the chair, hair combed, teeth in, and glasses on when my tray arrives which I will gamely attempt to finish. My daughter will be the one to gather information, give instructions and handle all the unpleasant business. She will make it look easy, and she will pass information to her brother and tell him when he should visit. She will give instructions to the nurses on her way out to call her if there are any problems or changes. She will answer the phone on the first ring, even if it is 3 in the morning.
My son will arrive with a dozen roses, because they are beautiful, not practical. He will look cautiously around the door frame to make sure he isn’t waking me. He will give me a hug and kiss my forehead as I do to him now. “How are you Mom?” he will say. He won’t say much, certainly he won’t boss me around. He will probably sit beside me and watch a TV show, he will encourage me to eat my supper (in my bed because he won’t make me get up and sit in the chair to eat), and read to me if I request it. He will help me take a walk, holding my hand to keep me steady, as I once held his when he was learning to walk. His quiet presence will be the perfect calming end to the day, just as my daughter’s vibrancy was the spark I needed to start it. He will stay with me until I’m almost asleep, then he will say “Love you Mom” as he leaves the room as quietly as he entered. He also will approach the nurses station on his way out, but with a shy smile and an offer to come back if I need him. He will also answer on the first ring even it’s 3 in the morning.
This is all conjecture, of course, based solely on how I see my children now, and from what I know of the circle of life from 30 years of caring for the elderly. I’m so thankful for the children I’ve been given, both so precious to me in their own way. I can only hope and pray I did right by them when they were little and vulnerable, and in the backseat, so that they will do right by me when I’m little and no longer the driver of my own life. I’m pretty sure I did a good job, and that they will too.
