Young and Old
The past couple of weeks have flown by. During it I have repeatedly felt like the filling between a slice of young and a slice of old, as I've dashed between the family's oldest and youngest generations.
Grandotty had her first ever sleepover with us when her parents travelled north for a week, before they left with Little Sister to attend and stay overnight at a wedding celebration. I'm glad to say the grandparents survived unscathed and Grandotty was an absolute delight. The only cloud on the horizon, apart from the post-babysitting fatigue, was that due to a technical oversight on the part of her parents, we were provided with only 3 spare pairs of disposable training pants for the whole 24 hours that she was in our care. A little slow on the uptake, we didn't realise until after the nearest supermarket (8 miles away) had closed on late Sunday afternoon. Hats off to Grandotty, we didn't quite manage to complete a crash course in toilet training but she did assist in averting what I feared was going to be a disastrous night.
Amidst the visitors I also found myself with a flurry of appointments for my mother at the hospital and elsewhere. Back in June, I referred to the pressure I was beginning to feel under. I'm still stunned by the lack of support out there for the elderly and their families as they strive to cope with a dementia diagnosis and the downhill spiral that ensues. The Government views anyone of state pension age as ineligible for a carer's allowance, presumably because they are recognised as too old to take on primary caring responsibilities. The Local Authority and NHS, however, deflect the burden back, regardless. So long as there appears to be a caring family in the background they are on their own to cope with the complications of an awful disease, presumably unless or until something awful happens.
Now I have for the past ten years been of the view that retirement is generally a stress free time and the physical symptoms of overload were very much left behind on the day I closed the office door behind me. The past week, however, has been a wake up call. Is the human body only capable of taking so much anxiety in a lifetime or is that having wound down over the course of a decade, trying to ramp up again to juggle all the balls is simply no longer possible? Just how many 60-75 year olds are there in the UK today putting their own health at risk looking after an elderly relative?
Sadly, I feel that I've fallen early in the race. Heart palpitations, headaches and nausea serve as a serious warning that this is not a role everyone can fulfil. Health and well-being which I have strived to nurture and prioritise in retirement are fundamental. Without them we put our own lives on the line and are of no use in helping anyone else in the family. Reason has dawned and I'm now working hard on restoring balance and harmony to my own life, as well as pacing effort and contributions to match.
In case I needed any help in slowing down, today the weather stepped in with a high of 32 degrees; that's modest by European standards but something of a high for the Costa del North Yorkshire. I couldn't even make it to a deck chair in the garden, it felt so hot. No headless chicken impersonations from me, even if I'd wanted to run round.
(Image by daniel alonso from Pixabay)
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