Sandwich

I've had a lot of serious stuff on my mind, especially today. My brother called me today saying he'd gotten a call from my mom that was dad was feeling really unwell. My dad is a dynamo, always is full of energy, even at 62. Apparently he was out at a friend's house when he started feeling really dizzy and like he was going to pass out. He sat down, drank some water, had some fruit, but continued to feel unwell. He made it back home and called my mom, who sent my brother to help in case my dad needed to be carried.

(Side note: my parents don't live together. They're still married, but they live apart. Two houses, about 1.5 miles from each other.)

My brother checked on my dad, who went to lay down, and then called me. I only live about a mile (probably less, actually) from my dad, so I went over. I didn't know how long I'd be there, or if my mom would come (because she is strange, and because even if she did come, she doesn't drive on the freeway and the circuitous route she takes can mean a half hour to get to my dad's house, and because she doesn't have a cell phone, so I can't reach her if she's not home), so I brought a book. I talked to my dad, found out what happened, told him I'd stick around to check on him. Got out my book, read for a few minutes before my mom showed up. She sent me back home to get my blood pressure cuff. My dad has high blood pressure and is on meds, so one of our thoughts was that maybe he had a sudden drop in blood pressure (or blood sugar, though he's not a diabetic as far as we know). His blood pressure was high, which was worrisome to me since he is on meds. He was cold, he was lethargic, and he seemed to be having a hard time paying attention. We let him rest some more and checked on him and his blood pressure again. It was better, but still high.

I suggested to him, and to my mom, that we take him to the doctor. He has health insurance, so there's no reason not to go. Except that he's a man and hates going to the doctor. He said no. My mom thought he should go, but she asked him if he wanted to and he declined. After a little bit of that, I made an executive decision that he really needed to go. I called the nurse line and talked to a nurse who asked me questions and then asked to talk to my dad. If I hadn't had the nurse on the phone already, he never would have agreed to talk to a nurse, but I just handed my dad the phone and said, "here, the nurse wants to ask you some questions." The first thing out of my dad's mouth was, "I feel fine!" I left the room so my dad would feel more comfortable giving honest answers and came back in when I heard my dad say, no he would prefer to go in tomorrow. I took the phone at that point and set up an appointment for about an hour later. Sorry, Dad, you don't have a choice.

We took a family field trip to urgent care. I drove my parents. My brother met us there. It was like a jolly old field trip. Actually, it wasn't, but my mom sort of treated it that way. She and my dad went in together to see the doctor, who ordered a bunch of tests but let him go home. They're looking at several things, including the possibility of diabetes, which as an older African American man who eats like crap (taco shop 4 times a week, plus lunch meat, hot dogs, canned chili, and other things that are incredibly high in sodium), is a good possibility.

On the way home, I tried talking to them both about making better choices. My mom lives on cigarettes and Pepsi. My dad on the aforementioned foods and sugary drinks like soda and iced tea. They basically told me they're too set in their ways, that they like to eat what they like to eat, and that everyone is going to die, so why worry about it? My dad bragged about the only vegetables he eats being (iceberg) lettuce and tomatoes, and said that if he can't eat what he likes, what's the point of eating? I told him that if he ate better, he could possibly not have to take blood pressure medication anymore, and I pointed out to both of them that they could live a long time, could possibly avoid dying of some awful thing (this is especially true in my mom's case. 40+ years of cigarette smoking seems like begging for cancer), and could stick around long enough to see Michaela grow up. And they totally blew me off.

I guess today is the first time it hit me that since I've had Michaela, I'm officially part of "The Sandwich Generation." I'm trapped between my parents and my baby. Someday, probably soon, I will have to take care of the older and the younger generation. And in the case of my parents, it's not just health, it's also financial. The two-house situation they currently maintain isn't sustainable. My mom doesn't work and my dad doesn't make that much money. So it's stupid to be paying mortgage and rent, to pay two of all the utility bills, etc. But they won't change. Their answer when I talk to them about that is the same as their answer when I talk about health stuff: we are adults, we can do what we want. They don't care that they're in the process of screwing me over. They're too short-sighted or too proud or too blindly optimistic or too I don't know what to see that at some point, something is going to happen and I'm going to have to take care of them. Certainly my brother can't. He's a good person, but he works as a bar back, four days a week. He can hardly afford to take care of himself (because of his bad habits, which he learned/inherited from my parents. In fact, he recently declared bankruptcy at the ripe old age of 27). So it will all fall on me and on Mike, who just today said he expects my mom is going to have to move in with us at some point because of her bad financial situation.

Life in the middle of this sandwich is pretty scary. I hope not to do this to Michaela.