Family has been much on my mind recently. Family, and getting old. Family, and our values.
I should warn you: this post will talk about death and suffering. It’s more downbeat than most of my posts, so some of you may prefer not to read on.
I’ve never been one of those people who felt they should settle down and have kids. I’ve not been opposed to the idea, either. I kind of assumed that one day I’d meet someone and settle down, and children would follow as a matter of course. It turns out that a nomadic life spent travelling between countries on insecure contracts and short-term visas isn’t a good way to meet a life partner.
I don’t have any regrets about that. My career has taken me to amazing places, introduced me to wonderful people, and given me many extraordinary experiences. I do have to face the consequences.
In 2007 my mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease. One of the worst experiences of my life was flying home to visit my parents shortly afterwards. While my father was out of earshot, my mother spoke openly about her fear of what was going to happen to her. She didn’t want to go through it; she didn’t want to live. I wish that we’d known then about Dignitas. I wish now, knowing what was to come afterwards, that as a family we’d had the strength to follow that course.
My mother was right to be frightened. She lived for over a decade, while her personality gradually disintegrated and she became a mute prisoner in her own body. My father cared for her devotedly, but it gradually became more than he could bear on his own.
Eventually, by then living in China, I made the decision to return to Wales to help, and stayed for three years. That decision was based on my personal values, and it was the right thing to do, but it cost me dearly – something I’ve written about elsewhere. Being on the scene meant I was aware of all the extra help my father managed to get from social services, which made a big difference, although he still needed to hire private carers. He’d always been careful about money so he had the funds to do that but, of course, it was a huge drain on his savings.
With my own health being affected, I moved abroad again and found myself once more in China. When my father suddenly passed away, I was involved in the discussions with social workers about moving my mother into a nursing home.
After the covid-19 pandemic began, my work in China dried up but I couldn’t leave, as all international flights were stopped. It was during this time that my mother’s suffering finally ended. I had to watch the funeral from Beijing over the internet.
When travel restrictions eased a little in August 2020 I took the opportunity to come back to Wales – and went straight into lockdown here. After it ended, I learned that an elderly uncle, who lives alone and has no children, had become very frail during lockdown and was unable to look after himself.
We’ve always got well, so I cared about what happened to him. No other relatives were able to help, so I took responsibility for helping him to stay in his own home, as he wished. It’s been a long few years, constantly dealing with Care and Repair, doctors, nurses, occupational therapists, care agencies, solicitors and social workers, and we’ve only recently reached the point where I can be more hands-off.
All of this allows me to compare the help the state could give my parents against what was available to my uncle a decade later.
In both cases, the same local authority awarded a care package using the same care agency. My uncle has fallen several times, requiring trips to hospital. Each time, the care workers have called me and, each time, I’ve made the three-and-a-half hour trip from my home to his by public transport (I choose not to own a car). I’ve usually arrived before or just after the ambulance, though in one case it took around twelve hours for first-responders to get there.
After the most recent fall, he was absolutely fine but was admitted over the weekend for x-rays and checks. The care agency, which had already complained about being overworked, took the opportunity to drop him from their books.
There was no other care agency available. He stayed on the ward for six desperately unhappy months before another company could take him on, allowing him to return home. Six months of blocking a bed urgently needed for other people in genuine need: part of a growing national problem. We looked for a care home where he could wait with more privacy and dignity, but every one even remotely close to home was full.
Getting a help from a care agency, like getting a room in a care home, is now quite literally a case of dead men’s shoes: a macabre waiting game.
I’ve seen as well, how the stress on social workers has grown. The demand has grown but resources have shrunk. They’re cracking under the strain as well.
My uncle was, frankly, very lucky that I was in the position, financially and work-wise, that I could fight his corner. If I hadn’t been able to, he would either be confined to a hospital ward, or spending his remaining time miserably lonely in a care home far from everyone and everything he knows. Even with the help that’s been available, though, I’ve had to spend a heck of a lot of my own money. Again, I don’t regret that – but I do to deal with the consequences.
Since I have no children, there won’t be anyone to fight for me. It’s also very likely that by the time I get to my seventies – should that happen, of course – public finances will be overstretched to the extent that there won’t be anything like the level of state support that my parents and uncle were able to call on.
In many societies today, many people say that they can’t afford to have children. In the UK, in China, in the USA, and in many other countries, the same decision is being made. That means two things. Firstly, no children to help them when they get old. Secondly, many fewer adults of working age who pay taxes, and so less public assistance.
If you’re working-age or younger now, you should expect that you’ll have to make your own arrangements for your old age. That’s been true for most of history, and it’s still the case in many countries today. I’m based in the UK, though, and here we’ve become accustomed to thinking that the NHS will always be here for us. That time is passing, I suspect.
If you can’t afford to have children, you need to be able to afford your old age. I could afford to help my uncle; now I need to be sure I can afford to get old myself – or, of course, that I can get to Dignitas.
If you do have children, you need to make sure that your relationship with them is good enough that they’ll spend their time and money on you when you’re old. It’s not guaranteed, after all.
Part of being a coach is the responsibility to raise and discuss difficult and uncomfortable topics. Avoiding them doesn’t help the client.
So here’s the question for you, and for me. Getting old is not likely to be fun. Getting old with dignity, in safety, doesn’t happen on its own. It takes planning, preparation and investment.
What are your plans?
Photo by Steven HWG on Unsplash
Traethiad 