Lola

Anonymous

During my medical mission last summer I cared for an elderly woman who was close to passing. She had been fighting complications from pneumonia for several weeks, and at 97, she held on a lot longer than many of us expected her to. When she grew very weak, she and her family chose palliative care at home over prolonging her medication regimen. During her last days our conversations were filled with stories about our families and loved ones. She lived in the small town of San Agustin all her life and had never traveled outside the Philippines. A few days before she passed, she asked me to explain to her what a nursing home was because she heard somewhere it was a place where older people go to die in America. Lola had never heard of a nursing home before and was confused at the concept of one. In a nutshell I told her that in America there is no obligation for children to take in their parents when they are older; that for many, nursing homes are a place where people receive care who don't have family to care for them properly. It was a cruel and shallow explanation, but I could not find the words in Tagalog to articulate it more delicately. Lola has been in my mind all day ever since Dimitri explained the custom of the daughter's duty to care for her parents when they are older. In the Philippines it is similar, but it is the duty of the son to carry it out. As Dimitri spoke about Greek customs I gained a deeper understanding of family values in this part of the country. It was comforting to hear how Mediterranean families take care of their own. I just wish it were more of a common practice back home in the states. When I think about all the patients I've cared for who've reached this stage, the one common thing they wish for is that they not be alone when it happens.