When you are the child and also the care-giver for your parents- caring for them together or caring for one while supervising the daily needs of the other- when they are in the same house as a couple and you live in that house; when you interface with them on a twenty four hour basis, seven days per week and you are middle aged., a collection of ingredients such as this is sufficient to create an emotional bomb capable of destroying the care-giver on every level.  Long term care-giving by professionals, para professionals, adult children, spouses, hired help, all have the distinct displeasure of facing burn-out at some point or other.  While the methods of care-giving have a standard platform, there are differences from each of the levels of the care-givers in relationship to the patient/client.

My focus in this discussion will be primarily from the view -point of the aging adult child caring for a parent or parents. In my case I had the luxury of also being a trained medical professional who loved my parents and was only too happy to get the opportunity to give back to them. I had no idea what lay in store and how consecutive rounds of giving back would completely destroy all my professional knowledge as what I thought I knew did not provide much ground for me to stand on, nor did it shield me from the flames of burn-out then, or now that I am on the second round with my father. During the second year of caring for my mother, she realized in solemn fullness that she was going in the wrong direction of life and that all measures to correct the course were only going to be temporary stop-gaps. It was a great deal to undertake and accept. I realized it around the same time that she did, and I became her venue for venting. This was not pleasant, it was brutal. Her emotional pain was palpable and I tried to shield her from herself, I thought I could, instead  I only hurt myself and further aggravated her as I innocently appeared vigorous, vital and a fount of knowledge managing a 9-5 job and caring for her until sometimes after 2am. I was boundless. I served to irritate her immensely with my youthful vigor.

The layers peeled off the onion slowly and her moods became frightful. I did not recognize my parent. Who was this raging monster that I had daily wrestling matches with? Repeatedly she told me that she was her own master and she did not need me. My heart broke but I was unbowed. I vowed not let her see how disturbed I was, I would not want her to worry about me. Or feel any guilt.  I knew she loved me with every fiber of her being, I understood her current dislike of me; there she was slowly dying and there I was telling her how to live the rest of her life. Who the heck was I to tell her anything?

What did I know that she didn’t teach me or experienced for herself. What had my college, nursing degree or university degrees taught me that gave me authority over her? Frankly nothing. I had nothing over her 87 years of life experiences. She was a mother, a grandmother, a wife, a teacher, a student, a professional and I was, simply put, a child she gave birth to and raised. I was her pride and joy, her creation, I answered to her, not the other way around despite the many diplomas and certificates and accolades I had achieved, she was the grand poohbah.

extracted from a work in progress:” I am Still the Queen“. a working title.

To be continued: