Boss Level of Being an Adult Child

You guys, I think I just arrived at the Boss Level of Being an Adult Child.

For real.

A few weeks ago, my Dad called me and left a voicemail saying he needed my "expertise on some medical issues"...which is a really big fat fuckin' deal in my world.

Who's calling?!

My Dad comes from a very traditional Southern Arizona Mexican Catholic home, which means the parents have the last word, especially the males because machismo is a thing. So asking for help, especially your adult female child...it's a big fat fuckin' deal in his life, too. So, I'm recognizing that it took some courage for him to reach the point of asking me. Alternatively, he's that desperate. But, let's see the good in this situation...since that's how I mostly choose to live...mostly.

Anyway, so my Mom has dementia, but we call it "memory issues" since "dementia" is kinda a bad word for them and forces them to face reality. Whatever word or phrase you'd like to use is up to you. But, just so ya know, it is well documented that people who experience this heartbreaking brain disease also suffer from abnormal sleep. While neuro-specialists don't know why this happens, they do know it happens...and my Mom hasn't been sleeping well at night. She has anxiety when she lays down...and I do to...so I completely understand. I'd reckon that many mothers have anxiety...and here's information about how to help yourself....

But for seniors who are managing dementia, it's different. Watching your spouse decline due to disease...and not being able to leave them alone...I completely understand that...and it really fuckin sucks...but, cancer isn't the same as dementia. When I was supporting my husband as he went through his experience with HPV-caused tonsil cancer in 2016, there were times I was afraid he was going to die. There were times we'd have hard discussions about life and death, and how outcomes look different for individuals and families. There are so many variables with cancer...it depends on the type of cancer, the stage, how early it is detected, if it's spread, if it's operable, if the cancer responds to treatment, how the patient responds to treatment...the first round of chemo nearly killed my husband.

Yet, with memory loss, there's just this sense of her slipping away into this blackness from which she'll never surface. Like, give up hope, watch her decline, nothing we can do except keep her as comfortable as possible. Sorry, Charlie.

And the concept of "giving up" goes against pretty much every fiber of my being. When my older son was four, he was diagnosed with seizure disorder, at age six, he was diagnosed with autism and ADHD (and NO, it's not ok to give him a 20-ounce red fucking Power Ade as a reward #StoryForAnotherTime). Around the age of eight, he was diagnosed with a rare form of epilepsy called Lennox-Gaustaut Syndrome. And when he was little, each and every time we'd visit his pediatric neurologist at Seattle Children's Hospital, I'd ask his neurologist if, in the research, there are cases of kids outgrowing their seizures. Our doc, who's an incredibly gracious older gentleman, and has a wonderfully dry sense of humor, says things like, "Well, now, you're asking me to tell the future, and my crystal ball is cracked, so it's never accurate," and his eyes crinkle when he smiles at me. There's a chance, since my son has now entered the super-fun stage of Puberty that his seizures will decrease...time will tell.

Since I've never given up hope on my kid, it's counter-intuitive for me to give up on my mom...even though we aren't close geographically or emotionally. My parents are the least tech savvy people on the planet, so videoing is out of the question. I wonder if the family photos we took in November at my brother's wedding will be the last one of the four of us....?

And, yes, all of the above mentioned diseases suck in a big way. It's not that one's worse than the other. But, managing all of them at the same time is an incredible burden, which can feel oppressive on occasion. Like when I sit down and write about them all.

Anyway. So, Mom's not sleeping at night when it's easier for Dad to sleep, because let's face it, he's not nocturnal. Also, for those of us who are the primary caregivers, we need to sleep too, and it's much easier for everyone if everyone just sleeps at night, mkay?

So, my folks went to the doc a few weeks ago and the doc gave her a 'script for 90 days of Ambien. And then the pharmacist could only administer 30 days because it's a controlled substance, and Dad's not particularly happy about that, which I get, but dude, laws are in place because #JesusKnows we do not really need to have anyone misunderstand the directions on the bottle (can she still read?) and really you're only supposed to take Ambien for a short period of time...like 4-5 weeks...unless you have your doc's approval...but #SweetJesus can't ya give her something else?

Yes. Yes you can.

Soooo...it turns out Dad called me to ask me my expertise about giving Mom medical marijuana.

In Southern Arizona.

Holy. Jesus. You. Guys.

Does this really need a caption?

#Winning

#BossLevelOfBeingAnAdultChild

#HoldMyBong

So, lemme stop here and give you a little backstory that my parents were total stoners before Reagan's 1986 White House and the Just Say No anti-drug campaign. It was in 1988 that the Fed started mandating random drug testing for it's own employees and contractors. Dad worked for an international builder of private airplanes that, at the time, had plants in both Tucson, Arizona and Wichita, Kansas. #ThanksJesus for not making us move to Kansas when I was in Jr. High (because that's what it was called back then...I went to Fickett Jr. High. No really. Fickett. #WhatTheFuckKindaNameIsThat #GodBless and really, it's totally ok to laugh at this, #duh).

And, so because Dad built cabinets for these multi-million dollar private airplanes, and the company had contracts with the Federal Government, random drug testing became a reality for my Dad. Thankfully, he didn't want to loose his job due to a positive UA (and I don't mean the University of Arizona), so he and my Mom stopped smoking pot. It was a team effort, you guys. Worth noting: my Dad ended up loosing his job anyway because of Reganomics...or Voodoo Economics.

For the record, the 80's were a time of mixed messages for Gen-Xers: we had the White House telling us to not use drugs via the DARE Program (proven ineffective)...and then we had Nike telling us to Just Do It. It's a wonder my generation survived the 80's in America. #ThankJesus for movies like The Breakfast Club to help us understand ourselves. 

I'm surprised Dad called; Mochi's pretending.

So, like any girl who's dad just called for help, I advised him that, yes, it'll be ok...and no, you won't make her overdose. True overdose like your lips turn blue and you suffocate? No. Administer too much, she gets happy, eats a little too much, and then sleeps her ass off? Yes.

In fairness, my parents were hardcore smokers, and back then, edibles weren't a thing like they are today. In fact, the idea of eating marijuana was considered like "the next level" of using. Or wasteful. I'm not sure which. But, the purists were smokers.

My parents were looking at my mom having a tincture, which is used sparingly. "The key," I said to my dad on the phone, "is to start low and go slow. And absolutely listen to the bud-tender behind the counter at the marijuana dispensary. That person will provide you the most information about the product you're giving her."

We chatted for a few more minutes, he said he'd keep me posted on how it goes. "Dad, it's not going to hurt either of you to take a few hits off a joint. But use caution: the marijuana today is not like the marijuana you were smoking when you were younger. It's stronger. More potent. So you'll only need a puff or two, and you'll get high. In my experience of being a care-giver, there are days that I feel overwhelmed. And while I know those feelings will come and go, I think it's ok to use marijuana as a form of medication for people who need it. It helps with my son's epilepsy and his anxiety. It helped me get through breast cancer. It helped my husband with his tonsil cancer. So, based on the fact that three out of four of my immediate members of my home have used it in different forms, for over 5-1/2 years, I have confidence that it will help Mom sleep. It may be helpful for you to connect with her to smoke a little with her."

"Maybe," he said. "It's been a long time."

"Yeah," I said. "But maybe each of you will relax enough that you can both sleep. I love you, Dad. You're doing the right thing by looking into different options to help her. You're not going to hurt her by putting a few drops of the tincture onto a spoon or into some hot tea. She'll be ok."

He thanked me for sharing my knowledge and supporting him as he pursues this on her behalf. I reminded him that he needs to work within the laws that the State of Arizona has, since the laws in Washington State are going to be different.

And I'm happy to report that now, she's sleeping better at night than she has been in years. #ThankJesus for marijuana, you guys. It's an important plant and has so many different ways of helping people. That said, it's not a panacea and, like any drug, may not work for everyone. And I firmly believe that the Federal Government needs to stop fighting the cultural change that has been occurring in our country around marijuana. They need to be like Elsa and Let it Go.