About 12 years ago Matt and I were sitting in the office of a financial advisor in Alabama. Most of the questions were expected and Matt and I were able to answer quickly and confidently. Then the financial guy asked the question that stumped me "will you be taking care of your parents in the future?"
Um WHAT?
Me take care of my parents?
They are my parents...won't they always and forever be taking care of me?
I quickly called my dad.
"Dad. Do I have to take care of you in the future? The financial guy wants to know, and now I'm pretty freaked out and I want to know too!"
Dad assured me that he thought I wouldn't need to be financially responsible for him in the future.
Whew! Prior to this moment that thought hadn't even crossed my mind. College funds, our retirement, buying a house...those were on the list but I had never thought of caring for my parents.
Later dad told me that he figured Katina would take care of them.
That should have been a little clue about the favorite child thing (perhaps I falsely assumed that because I was favored he didn't want to burden me with things like geriatric care.)
I told him that I would gladly help Katina choose a good old folks home for him and mom.
We joke.
That's what we do because my dad and I find it difficult to be serious at times. We have this odd urge to provide comic relief when situations are uncomfortable.
For quite a few years now dad has talked about how he has to be nice to me to make sure I will find a good home for him, and I respond that I promise to visit often.
This long standing joke provided great relief last week, a giggle when we needed it most.
Dad and I were in the kitchen preparing a dose of morphine for my grandma.
This was a very difficult task for me.
The morphine was delivered along with many other "end of life" medications a few days earlier. Just the sight of it made me shutter. It brings back sad memories.
We didn't use the word 'morphine' at first. We called it "the other stuff" or "rexinal", the brand name.
We hadn't needed the morphine for the first few days that grandma was at mom's house.
The fact that we needed a stronger dose of pain meds was hard for me handle.
That medicine being morphine made it even worse.
So there we were in the kitchen getting out the bottle and preparing the syringe.
Dad had the drugs and asked "how much?"
I replied "5-10".
After I answered I looked over at the syringe that dad had ready to start drawing the liquid and noticed that the whole syringe was only 1ml it was very tiny. We both immediately thought "that doesn't seem right".
Thank you Lord for logic.
I looked back at the bottle for the dosing instructions "5mg - 10mg with is 1/4ml to 1/2 ml" is the proper dose.
I looked at dad with horror in my eyes.
He looked back equally shocked.
Then I said "See dad. You have to go to a home. You need SKILLED professionals to take care of you"
We both laughed. For quite a while. Not because overdosing anyone was funny, but because the whole thing scared me out of my mind.
I vowed not to touch any more medication and promised dad I would find him a very, very good home.
Um WHAT?
Me take care of my parents?
They are my parents...won't they always and forever be taking care of me?
I quickly called my dad.
"Dad. Do I have to take care of you in the future? The financial guy wants to know, and now I'm pretty freaked out and I want to know too!"
Dad assured me that he thought I wouldn't need to be financially responsible for him in the future.
Whew! Prior to this moment that thought hadn't even crossed my mind. College funds, our retirement, buying a house...those were on the list but I had never thought of caring for my parents.
Later dad told me that he figured Katina would take care of them.
That should have been a little clue about the favorite child thing (perhaps I falsely assumed that because I was favored he didn't want to burden me with things like geriatric care.)
I told him that I would gladly help Katina choose a good old folks home for him and mom.
We joke.
That's what we do because my dad and I find it difficult to be serious at times. We have this odd urge to provide comic relief when situations are uncomfortable.
For quite a few years now dad has talked about how he has to be nice to me to make sure I will find a good home for him, and I respond that I promise to visit often.
This long standing joke provided great relief last week, a giggle when we needed it most.
Dad and I were in the kitchen preparing a dose of morphine for my grandma.
This was a very difficult task for me.
The morphine was delivered along with many other "end of life" medications a few days earlier. Just the sight of it made me shutter. It brings back sad memories.
We didn't use the word 'morphine' at first. We called it "the other stuff" or "rexinal", the brand name.
We hadn't needed the morphine for the first few days that grandma was at mom's house.
The fact that we needed a stronger dose of pain meds was hard for me handle.
That medicine being morphine made it even worse.
So there we were in the kitchen getting out the bottle and preparing the syringe.
Dad had the drugs and asked "how much?"
I replied "5-10".
After I answered I looked over at the syringe that dad had ready to start drawing the liquid and noticed that the whole syringe was only 1ml it was very tiny. We both immediately thought "that doesn't seem right".
Thank you Lord for logic.
I looked back at the bottle for the dosing instructions "5mg - 10mg with is 1/4ml to 1/2 ml" is the proper dose.
I looked at dad with horror in my eyes.
He looked back equally shocked.
Then I said "See dad. You have to go to a home. You need SKILLED professionals to take care of you"
We both laughed. For quite a while. Not because overdosing anyone was funny, but because the whole thing scared me out of my mind.
I vowed not to touch any more medication and promised dad I would find him a very, very good home.
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