“The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.”–Franklin D. Roosevelt
How many of you have heard that quote? Maybe you have even said it to someone.
Fear is an intense emotion. You may associate fear with danger or pain. Maybe your heart races, your muscles tense. Maybe you feel panic, or absolute dread.
I have felt that panic, absolute dread a few times. Most recently was at the beginning of the month.
I called an ambulance for my dad.
For those of you who know my dad, he is a quiet but steady presence. He is willing to lend a hand, take on a project, even take a road trip.
For the better part of last March, he was my road trip companion, making many trips to Columbia with me. But, for the better part of this month, he has just not been himself. I tried for a week to get my dad into urgent care or the ER. Each time I would offer to drive, I would ask multiple times, which probably seemed annoying, but I kept asking. Kept calling. Kept checking in.
While the fear crept in, I had to remain steady. I had to make quick decisions. I was not going to take no for an answer that Sunday morning. When I realized I could not get him to my car, or that he needed more assistance than I could provide, he agreed to an ambulance.
That Sunday lead to his first overnight hospital stay–for a total four nights.
During that time, two major diagnoses were given. And in a few short days, a new way of going through every day routines changed. New medications were added, new doctors, new nurses. I made a binder to keep track of all of the information, adding a calendar for appointments, and setting up online healthcare portals, too.
That fear turned into courage. Finding the right words, asking the right questions, taking notes–that fear of not knowing turned into the ability to do the scary, the thing that may makes you lose sleep at night. I carried a notebook to appointments for questions and updates. I made a binder to collect information that may need to be shared with family members.
So what I have learned in accepting a new normal is that it is okay to ask for help. My dad is a helper. He is not one to often need or request help from others, but during this time he is learning to say yes more and take time to relax.
My dad has redefined what he can control. For a few weeks he was at the mercy of others with driving to and from appointments, the schedule was demanding, and time consuming. He has created new daily habits and routines.
We have worked on getting the facts. Thankfully, I have friends who can help me navigate healthcare, and remind me to ask certain questions. This is part of educating ourselves and understanding blood tests, fluid intake, and medications. This understanding helps somewhat with the fear of the unknown.
Self-care and mental health priorities have changed. My dad has been independent for a few years, and seeing him transition to having a driver, or visitor, or chaperone at times makes me realize that his health and transportation are now new priorities for him as we navigate this new normal. He has found books to read, he has been encouraged to rest, nap, and on the days where the sun shines, we try to make the most of it. We’ve watched some basketball this March Madness, and we’ve slowed down. Life and one’s health has a way of making you do that.
Courage shows up in every day moments. I’m incredibly thankful for those quiet moments. I’m incredibly thankful for the time to slow down, and the time to be in the moment. I try to hide my tears, but sometimes we have to remember that tears are okay.
