It’s hurricane season, but any time is a good time to check on your family’s disaster preparedness plan.

Those with chronic illnesses such as diabetes need to pay special attention to what they would do without their medicine or supplies.

The American Association of Clinical Endocrinologists and Olympic skier Kris Freeman who has Type 1 diabetes offers tips on how people with diabetes can be prepared for an emergency by stressing the importance of having on-hand:

* An emergency kit that contains basics like a radio, flashlights, batteries, whistles,food, water and a list of emergency contacts

* At least one week of supplies in a central locations

* A few ice packs to keep insulin cool

* A kit of diabetes supplies, including blood testing supplies, health insurance cards, copies of your prescriptions, a glucagon kit and fast-acting carbohydrates.

Take a moment to plan what you would do to manage yours or a loved one’s condition in the event of a disaster. Also, be sure that any aging friends or relatives living away from you are prepared and their supplies are updated.

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This past Sunday was the second anniversary of my mother’s death.

I would tell you how it went for me, but I was out of town and had my dates mixed up and I thought Sunday was the 19th rather than the 20th. When I finally became oriented to date and time, I did pretty well with the whole thing, it’s just really still so strange to me, almost surreal.

I didn’t talk to my dad that day because I was flying most of it, and I thought the significant day was the next day anyway.

I know he’s not going to forget about it or anything, but I still don’t really know what to say to him, sometimes. His mother was very strict when he was growing up, and he was always instructed that you don’t talk about personal things with people and it’s very much stuck with him.

If I wanted to talk to him I could, but he’s not going to reveal much about how he’s doing with it, so there ya go.

My mother always said that as you get older, you get more used to people dying. You don’t necessarily enjoy it, but it’s more naturally a “part of the plan” than it is when you are younger.

The only time I’ve really asked him how he was “doing”, he reflexively replied, “Fine, and you?” as he is not really a member of the Therapy Generation.

I think he’s bored to death here in the middle of the summer, I’m looking forward to him being back to work (he’s a high school teacher) because we certainly aren’t doing anything all that entertaining what with kids needing to go here, there and yonder.

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I sure thought it was just me, but Carol at Mothering Mother and More touched on one of my peeves in this whole care giver thing: people who tell you to “take care of yourself”.

Now, please understand, I’m not ungrateful for the sentiment, but as she puts it so well:

Taking care of yourself takes time, energy, sometimes money, and resources.

These are commodities that most caregivers dont have a lot of.

I think often, people don’t know what to say and this can be a “filler” statement. But, really? Most people do want to take care of themselves, and they know how to take care of themselves, but, in some situations, you can’t always do what needs to be done.

When my mother was sick, my reality was that I had to stay in the hospital with her at night, work my job during the day and take care of my family in the evenings. This often went on for 10-11 days at a time.

Now, my mother assumed that I could just sleep at the hospital and all would be well, but it wasn’t. There’s only so much sleeping you can do at the hospital on a couch thingy and whenever stuff happened to her, it was always at night, and she continually had to get up and go to the bathroom. This often went on for 10-11 days at a time. I lived out of my car like a vagabond.

I had to go to work because most of my benefit time was already used taking care of her, and I had to see and take care of my family, too. Didn’t leave much time for anything else, even if I wanted to do something else.

I got sick, I actually started to hallucinate one night while I was driving. Not pretty.

However, it’s not because I didn’t know how to take care of myself, or refused to take care of myself. I had no real choice at that time.

I very much appreciate my friends who were concerned about me, but a better way to approach a caregiver is to offer some specific help. For example, I could have used some of her friends to take a night in the hospital for me. Or, my family could have used a dinner, or someone could have brought my kids home from school.

It’s not that I couldn’t ask for help, we were OK, but taking the time to figure out what would really help a caregiver rather than statements that can sound like platitudes is very valuable and much appreciated.

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There’s an insightful story in Newsweek by Anne Kennedy Rickover: Bringing Home Mom and Dad.

Rickover moved her aging parents close to her home and compares it to a pregnancy, with preparation, birth, growth and eventually leaving:

At the beginning of this “pregnancy,” just as at the beginning of all my pregnancies, I read. When I was pregnant with my children, it was a challenge to narrow down the volumes of advice. Every week of pregnancy and virtually every hour of labor were clearly outlined. This time, however, I looked in vain for books that explained how to move your parents halfway across the country and settle them into a new life. What would the first week be like? What were the progressive stages we would all go through? The necessary information just didn’t seem to exist.

Read the rest, it’s good.

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Psychology Today has a blog about only children.

As you are probably well aware from here, I’m an only child, whan to know more? On Being an Only Child, by me.

Anyway, they cover a topic that is near and dear to my cold, sinling-less little heart: aging parents having to rely on an only child.

During my mother’s illness, I have to admit that I sometimes wished for someone to share the burden, both physical and psychological, with. But, my father’s steadfast refusal to give me a sibling (that was a joke, I’m 43, he’s 75) has rendered that dream impossible.

However, after witnessing friends with aging parents who had raging battles with their siblings over care, I have to say that maybe having siblings isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, in this case.

I have to remember, like in my husband’s family for instance, the presence of siblings doesn’t always mean sharing the care.

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