Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow Sandwiched Man
My family and I were away for February vacation for a whole week. For many people, trips away provide a welcome opportunity to pause, change life’s rhythm (usually to slow it down), and put down the metaphorical glass of water. Meaning, even a not-very-heavy glass of water eventually is a back-breaker if you have to carry it forever.
Being a parent and a caregiver simultaneously increases the degree of difficulty on putting down the glass of water, but it can be done. For a short time. And not for a week.
Once you get up to a week, you start handing problems to the tomorrow version of yourself. Fans of the show Seinfeld might remember the episode where Seinfeld talks about “Tomorrow Jerry”. I use this construct a lot; at some point, you have to delegate your problems today to the tomorrow version of yourself. (Trust me, that sentence works.) Most days, I thank Yesterday Peter for some of his good choices or empathize with his prior plights enough to give him a pass for things he handed to me handle today.
A week with an elderly parent means that if you help parcel out medication, as I do, your parent is going to run out by the time you get back. This time I prepped a few days extra, but that ran out on Sunday. So after driving back from New Hampshire, I had a date in Framingham with my father’s prescription bottles. Today Peter was on the case. But then he got tired enough that the snowy, windy weather encouraged him to have hot chocolate instead and delegate the pill distribution to Tomorrow Peter.
Then Tomorrow Peter turned into Today Peter with a medication disbursement deadline. Today Peter was also faced with the just-announced merger of his company where he was among the few survivors, as well as prep for an upcoming Board presentation on the somewhat radical financing structure that he was recommending for his Temple. And this is how Today Peter found himself on multiple conference calls in his car, while driving to help his father in Framingham, while cursing Yesterday Peter and his poor planning. I pulled into a liquor store parking lot just off Route 9 for a few of these. At least I was able to stop off to pick up my father’s Vermouth and replenish the house beer supply for when I visit.
Today Peter arrived at his father’s apartment around 4pm with only a few minutes to take care of parceling out pills before the next wave of conference calls. My father sensed the time pressure, sensed my anxiety and knew that my time was limited. So he did the logical thing, which is to recommend that I have a drink with him.
At first I turned him down. Then I realized that I was crazy to turn him down. So we had a quick shot together. It was fantastic.
Now that I am looking back on how Yesterday Peter performed in that situation, I want to thank him. It became a great memory and a nice reminder that my father isn’t just someone who I am caring for — he is my father and sometimes knows what I need. I’m sure Tomorrow Peter will agree.
Sandwich Generation Scourge #259: Relatives Speaking Nonsense
If you are a caregiver, you have a person like this in your life too. She means well and is a good person. Probably loves her kids and has many redeeming qualities. Connected to you by blood and the memory of many family events, some of which you even recall as not completely awkward and uncomfortable. Someone who has come through for you in the past.
But not always – because this person can be counted on occasionally to give your loved one spectacularly bad advice.
In my case, this advice was related to taking medication. Because apparently doctors are all trying to make money by prescribing antibiotics like Dificid, which is the pill that currently separates my father from the runaway symptoms of the stomach bacterial infection C Diff. Also, once the symptoms are gone, you don’t need to take more pills. After all, if I have a headache, and I take aspirin, and the headache goes away, I don’t take more aspirin, right? I mean, clearly doctors are just trying to make money. Everyone knows that.
My father relayed this advice that he’d heard to me and I went ballistic. Sometimes I do this. Generally my style of persuasion is finesse, not brute force. As a sandwich generation person, I try not to go to the yelling mode with either my father or my kids, but sometimes there is no choice. Plus, I was angry. My father has a penchant for making his own medical decisions, most of which consist of trying to second-guess which prescriptions he should take that week. I have worked really, really hard to talk him out of this habit and put the medication process on auto-pilot. It has worked. This is better for everyone. And then now this
So I somewhat (but only somewhat) more gently pointed out that this infection had come back many times, that he should stick with the plan, and this relative should stick with what she really knows a lot about, whatever that is. Etc. Then he said, “Peterkem (Hungarian for ‘my Peter’, sort of a term of endearment), of course I am listening to you.” Almost as if to say, “I know that this advice makes no sense. I am not a dummy.”
Problem solved. Until the next spectacularly bad advice floats over the transom.
You Know the Drill: Today’s Sandwich Schedule
Just an average Sunday schedule for the Sandwich Generation — you’ve had these too. It looks like this:
8:45 – 10am: watch some Olympics with the kids, but mostly make sure that they are prepped for today’s swim meet and have done their Hebrew School homework. Also had to jam in a few work emails.
10:30am-11am: review Hebrew School homework, figure out what on earth they are going to have for lunch, and negotiate over who is driving them where and when
11:30am (ish) – 2:30pm (ish): go over to my father’s apartment. We were supposed to watch a movie, have lunch and go through photo albums. My main agenda item is to see what I need to need to do now that his C-Diff infection clearly is back. This leaves a mess (enough said there). So, although he tells me that it’s not too bad and the apartment-facing camera appears to confirm that, I definitely have to check, especially the bed. Luckliy I have spare sets of everything now (not the case when he first moved up here). Which reminds me that we’ll need to get antiobiotics into him before I head away on vacation next Friday, preferably by Wednesday so that I can leave knowing that they worked well enough to regain control. Also that reminds me that his other prescriptions need to be refilled. And that we will need to make an appointment at Mass General to get the fecal transplant procedure set up.
2:30pm (ish) – 6:30pm (ish): Kids’ swim meet.
After 6:30pm: home. Need to figure out dinner, as well as lunch setup for the week.
At least it’s a day where I can sort of plan ahead. Glass half full.
The Sandwiched Man 
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