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We have officially become part of the sandwich generation, whic includes those who are raising kids and taking care of elderly parents at the same time. I guess we have been in it for a while, but the sandwich metaphor is feeling particularly appropriate lately.

 Eleven days ago my father in law moved into assisted living here in San Francisco. To say it has been a rocky start would be a gross understatement. And not in the way you might expect, either. The problem is not with my father-in-law, who is about the nicest, most compliant man in the world. He is taking part in the activities and likes and converses with the other residents.  The problem is that the place he is living has made a series of errors that are making the transition more difficult. None of the individual issues is hugely problematic, but taken together, they are scaring all of us. And we are spending hours and hours every single day trying to smooth things over and keep the transition on track.

Yesterday for the first time we utilized the shuttle service to take Grandpa to the doctor. I met them there and arrived early so that I wouldn't miss them. Good thing too, because they arrived at 1:30 for a 2:00PM appointment. The driver told me to call when we were ready and he would be in the area because my father in law was the only rider yesterday. Excellent. I told him to expect a call around 2:30. Doctors office went swimmingly and I called the place at 2:35 to have them contact the driver.

We waited and waited and waited.. After 45 minutes I called again and was told "they were having trouble reaching the driver." (I found out later they were calling the wrong number)  After another 10 minutes I decided to drive him myself, but that meant an extra hour by the time I got the car, got him loaded in, drove out there and returned home.  Not only that I had to leave him alone while I ran to get the car which was a block or so away. That made me incredibly nervous, because he's pretty defenseless.

As I ran to the car I called home to see if there was someone there who could help the Nurse lift and care for Maggie. There was so I was OK on that front.

I loaded Grandpa and his wheelchair into Maggie's van (and how many family's will have a wheelchair van handy?) I had to tie it down because he is not set up for the "ez lock" system we have. An ambulance driver could see I was flummoxed and offered to help, but I figured it out. I told the ambulance driver this was the first time I ever loaded this particular chair and perhaps he would consider just staying behind us as we drove across town. He laughed. I laughed too - but I was only partially kidding.

We had to stop for some supplies on the way home and once again I had to leave him alone while I ran into the drug store. He was in the car, so I wasn't too worried. As I paid for my strange combination of purchases and entered my phone number to get the points, the lady looked at me and smiled and said, "It's senior citizen day and there's a discount." I wondered how she knew that these purchases were for a senior citizen who was outside in the car. Then it dawned on me. I felt very tired and asked her, "And I'm a senior citizen?" She nodded excitedly and I received 25% off my purchase. That was about $20, so I decided to take the good with the bad. When I told Grandpa he said, "good I'm a senior citizen." I just looked at him and said, "Bad news - so am I." He liked that quite a bit.

When I returned to the facility they knew I was not happy. When one of the bosses asked what they could do to set my mind at ease I said simply "Stop screwing up. Let's go a few days without a screw up. That will help tremendously."  Seems simple enough.

As I drove across the City with Grandpa strapped in (fairly) securely behind me I considered how completely ridiculous all of this is. Once again we take things to the extreme. We are raising a profoundly disabled daughter and dealing with a newly disabled parent.

 I told Steve if the norm is a sandwich, we are a panini - being pressed from both sides.

At least paninis are delicious.


Things will settle down, won't they?

Independence Day

Today we are moving my aunt out of assisted living and back into her own place. My son Tim and my nephew Vinny will do the heavy lifting; I will wear the white hat and bark orders. (Funny how things work.) I cannot get back here in time to meet Maggie’s bus so the nurse and a helper will do that. I simply cannot be in two places at once.
There is a term for middle-aged people who have responsibilities for the generations above and below them. I believe it is called the sandwich syndrome or something similar. I have been living that for the past few months. I know there are people who live it in Technicolor every day and the taste I have had in the past few months cannot compare. I tip my hat to those of you juggling both.
As a mom, I have to tend to my kids. My boys need guidance and financial assistance, well within the normal limits for their respective ages. Maggie’s needs are extreme, of course. She needs full time around the clock attendant care as well as someone working full time to manage that care. Often times I fill both roles.
As a daughter, I have to tend to my parents. Except I really don’t because they don’t need it. I lost my dad a few years back, but I am lucky to have a vibrant independent mother who does not need any help. Even if she did, I have six siblings who will share the responsibilities. However, I do have an aunt for whom I am the point person and lately she has needed quite a bit of help. She asked me to do this and I am happy to oblige. I am not doing the day-to-day assistance; rather I am managing her assistance. She is appreciative, which makes it easier, but it is a lot of work. I have a feeling that is going to increase dramatically over the next few months as she tries to reclaim her independence.
I hope that this will be a successful exercise and my aunt will settle back into her life before her fall of a few months back. The physical injuries she sustained in that fall are healed, but these things take their tolls in other ways, especially in an older person. Every misstep is fraught with symbolism and can mean a piece of independence lost. I don’t blame her for wanting her own place back and I hope this transition goes smoothly. With my aunt’s consent, I hired a woman to cook, run errands, take her to the doctor etc, and (hopefully) help make it all work.
The assisted living place has been great. They do everything for her and all the residents and do it with a smile. They also charge through the nose, of course, but they are providing a wonderful service. Nevertheless, she hates it. To my aunt and many others, assisted living is the ultimate symbol of a loss of independence. It is the beginning of the end. Maybe I will change my mind when I get to be that age, but I do not see it that way at all. I think assisted living is actually fostering independence for many people.
Personally, I would LOVE to have my meals prepared, my laundry done and my room cleaned by smiling people. Of course, it would not be symbolic if I decided to live in a place like that. I would not be losing more independence every day; in fact, I would likely have a lot more free time.
I think I am going to open an assisted living facility for my generation with all the sandwiches you can eat. People would likely beat down the doors to get in. It would be a lot easier to take care of the generations above and below us if someone was taking care of us.