By AMY SHANKLAND
Sandwiched
I woke up last Tuesday morning with a sigh of relief. I had finally gotten a good night’s sleep. I had tossed and turned the previous night for some reason and I felt like a zombie on Monday because of it.
That relief was short-lived, however, after I saw a text from my husband John saying, “Call me.” I panicked thinking something had happened to my father-in-law, who just had outpatient surgery Monday. John was with him up in Northern Illinois.
I called John and was informed that the problem wasn’t Bopah (his dad) – it was our son Jonathon. Apparently Jonathon had been throwing up all night in his apartment near IUPUI and had called John in misery. John hadn’t been able to reach him since 2:30 a.m.
Yes, Jonathon is 20 years old. But my heart immediately started to thud in my chest. Being sick and alone, especially when you’re young, is terrible. My first instinct was to run down there to see if he needed anything, but then I remembered that my mother had a blood draw Tuesday morning. I had to be with her.
John told me he was going to call Jonathon one more time. I prayed that he was doing okay. I forced myself to do some things around the house, including starting my workday by checking emails. But I felt so torn!
I literally thought to myself, “Welcome back to the Sandwich Generation Tug of War.”
I’ve written a bit about this topic in the past, but never gave it an official title. It’s a situation we Sandwich Generation members find ourselves in occasionally, when both our elderly parents and our families need us at the exact same time. And it’s an awful position to be in.
Ordinarily John could have gone down to be with Jonathon and I would have taken Mom to Riverview without any worries. But he was 2 ½ hours away. And Mom had to have her blood drawn that day in preparation for her oncology appointment.
John finally called me at 9 to tell me that Jonathon was feeling a bit better. I exhaled and called him myself just to hear his voice. Jonathon was weak, but sounded okay. He hadn’t thrown up in hours and had finally fallen sleep at 2:30. It sounded like a nasty case of stomach flu.
I was relieved that all would work out and glad that my tug of war had only lasted a couple of hours. I thanked God that He had taken care of my son and that Jonathon was doing better.
And truly, that’s the only thing you can do in the Sandwich Generation Tug of War – pray. Amazingly, that’s worked for me so far and carried me through those moments of panic. I’m grateful!