I Wish I Knew.... (Part 1)

...how exhausting it would be.

This is installment one of a four part series entitled, I Wish I Knew.

There was absolutely no preparation for me. No lead up or acceleration. On February 8, 2015, I was quite literally thrown into the sandwich generation.

With one call from the RCMP that my father had sustained a heart attack and stroke, my world was turned upside down. 

Then just weeks later, my mom was readmitted to the hospital with breast cancer that had metastasized to her brain and bones. Brain surgery, consults, scans, radiation and ultimately, hospice. Every day it was a new diagnosis, a new place that cancer would take over her body...until there was nothing left to take over. 

There’s nothing that can truly prepare you for a trauma response to something like this. No sporting event or gold medal point (and I’ve been fortunate to have been a part of many!) that could match the adrenaline that surges through your body when someone you love is ill or injured. And there is nothing that can ready you for the sustainment of the adrenaline. It’s never ending and daily. Cortisol through the roof. Flight or fight instinct is on 24/7. Remember to eat? Yeah right, that’s not happening. Coffee will sustain me.

My daily routine looked like this:

• 5:17AM: alarm goes off. Get out of bed fully clothed in work clothes (thank goodness I was a volleyball coach during this time!)
• 5:22AM: Leave the house in a semi-lucid state, coffee in hand
• 6:05AM: Arrive at work, 5 minutes late every day  but no one else was there so we’ll just make up the 5 minutes at the end of shift
• 6:05-11:35AM: Coach amazing young women, lift weights, drink another coffee, and do some admin work to plan for the next day.
• 11:35AM: Leave work, and somehow muster the energy to get back in the car to drive to Hospital #1
• 12:15PM: Arrive at Hospital #1, sign Dad out and walk to Starbucks for…you guessed it…another coffee.
• 1:30PM: Random visit by a social worker, therapist or doctor. Notes taken, texts made to family to update them and simplified explanations given to Dad.
• 2:30PM: In-suite occupational therapy for Dad
• 3:30PM: Leave Hospital #1 for Hospital #2
• 4:00PM: Arrive at Hospital #2, check in with the nurses on any doctor’s updates and Mom’s vitals
• 4:10PM: Visit with Mom, sponge baths, review of family finances.
• 5:00PM: Watch her turn her nose up at the dinner provided.
• 5:10PM: Walk to the lobby for Starbucks sandwiches to satisfy us both
• 7:00PM: Leave hospital for home and husband time
• 7:30PM: Eat dinner with Adam on the couch, watching Neftlix.
• 8:00PM: Shower, change back into workout clothes.
• 8:15PM: Go to bed.

I repeat. Coffee sustained me. Quad grande with room americano if anyone is taking orders.

Beyond the physical responses to becoming the sandwich generation, I found myself mentally exhausted. Keeping track of everything the doctors and nurses were telling us, managing finances, and also working was too much. There were thousands of things to remember and no way to keep it all straight.

The overwhelm was real. My doctor told me I would have a nervous breakdown if I didn’t start to make changes.

I made some, but being in this place isn’t a one and done. It continues.
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The old adage of "put your own oxygen mask on before helping others" feels like a load of bullsh*t when you are in situations like this. It feels optional, because others are struggling to breathe harder than I am. So we burn the candle on both ends (how many metaphors can I possibly put into one blog post?) until there's nothing left. 

If I'd known it would be this exhausting, would I still do it?

Absolutely.

What else can you do for family?

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Coffee clearly is my thing. What's your go-to Starbucks order? Tell me in the comments and I'll do a draw for a Starbucks gift card on me!