Doug is a self-professed drug addict (his words, not mine). And his poison of choice is crack cocaine. Several years ago, he owned and operated a tooling company and befriended someone who gave him the rock to sample. In a rapid turn of events, his life spiraled downward fast.

My biological dad and I met for the first time when I turned 40 after I requested a search through a Private Investigator. He, and my biological mom, placed me up for adoption as a newborn baby. Fast forward to today, I count my blessings that I didn’t endure the hardship and uncertainty of what it must have been like to grow up under Doug’s influence.

Despite the addiction, I find Doug utterly fascinating; how he continues to live is beyond me. Physically, he looks like he’s been warped through a blender; the man has one leg, a dangling colostomy bag, and one eye. Yet he manages to wobble around on a cane and remain mobile — with a cheeky smile!

Although we don’t get a chance to talk often, given his penchant for dialing relatives at 3 or 4 AM, I see glimpses into his true self and where some of my unique personality traits originate. Doug is a visionary, a big-picture thinker. When he dreams, he shoots for the stars, the moon, and beyond. Although my bio-dad (as I affectionately call him) is a storyteller on auto-repeat, he shares his desire to create the “Billy Fund,” a billion-dollar charity designed to eradicate poverty and pay for educational expenses for Canadian children. A noble aspiration. Doug wants to accomplish his goal by walking across Canada, following in the footsteps of Terry Fox. Whenever dad shares his heart with me, I feel the realness of his intention, despite Doug’s reality being a fantasy.

Doug is a man of the people, and they like him too. He learned the art of the street hustle, evident in the amount of loot the man brings home. Christmas is an especially lucrative time for filling the coffers with coins, bills, and snacks. The real draw is his infectious sense of humor; he’s hilarious and loving while existing on an entirely different planet. What I love about Doug is his unwavering faith in other humans, his family, his adoration of animals, and his belief in God almighty.

No amount of rehab will bring Doug back to his original form. I believe he has suffered too much damage to return to normalcy. And this is why on the stifling hot Saturday, I arrived at the shelter, and Doug was nowhere to be found — despite my brother Chris informing him I was going to visit. Doug didn’t pick up his phone when I called twice, nor did the shelter staff know where he was.

In the heat of the moment, I felt a flush of anger arise from the depths of my stomach. Didn’t he know Saturday is my only day off? That I drove two hours just to see him? Why can’t he be where I need him? Of course, Doug can’t; he exists on an entirely different plane of consciousness.

On the drive home, I had time to process my emotions and come to terms with our loss of missing each other:

• In my first wave of emotion, I was overcome by selfishness, focusing on “I” rather than “We.” For some time, I allowed my feelings to be, observing the ebb and flow within my body. Over time, I asked myself — what did I expect would happen? That Doug would be standing at the entrance of the homeless shelter with flowers in hand?
• Doug is a creature of habit, on a mission to panhandle, source funds, and procure his next fix. Deviating from the normal routine is not in Doug’s repertoire; his addiction will always trump familial relationships. And knowing Doug is consumed by his own needs, my rage melted into compassion towards his restless soul.
• Through the newfound sense of empathy regarding Doug’s absence, I was able to switch my mindset and consider all the magnificent qualities I see in my dad; the beautiful shards of his soul shining through the darkness.

My story resembles the multi-millions of others affected by long-term heavy substance abuse. All we can do is try. I showed up to be with my dad, even if he couldn’t.

And here lies a choice as to how we respond when people don’t appear how we want them to. Either we allow anger, resentment, and abandonment to construct a permanent hornet’s nest in our hearts, or we can choose to “see” and “accept” people for who they are moment to moment, with all their glorious blemishes, flaws, and impurities. I choose love. What about you?

The post How To Respond To A Family Member Steeped In Addiction appeared first on Medika Life.

My 60-year-old mother told me, “I’ll get the pneumonia vaccine now, and then I think I’ll wait a few more months before I get the COVID vaccine.” 

I suggested, “You know COVID pneumonia is way worse and more likely to kill you than pneumococcus pneumonia, right? So why don’t you get your COVID vaccine now and then the pneumonia vaccine two weeks after you’ve been fully vaccinated or get the Pneumovax now then the COVID vaccine two weeks later?” 

“You sound just like my doctor. That’s what he told me yesterday!” she replied.

That is probably because I, too, am a doctor. And once upon a time, my mother was a registered nurse. 

“My mom is getting weak. So I may need to go back home soon,” she added. My mother immigrated to the US for college, where she met then married, my father.

“What if Pau Pau (what I call my maternal grandmother) gets sick or has a heart attack, and then you need to go back right away, but you bring Covid? It takes two weeks from the second injection for full immunity. Then you’re going to regret having waited to get vaccinated or regret making her already fragile health condition even worse. Don’t you want to be able to hug her without worrying you might kill her?”

Harsh. I know. 

This exact scenario had already played out with Nying Nying, my paternal grandmother. My mother did not know at the time of this conversation and will soon learn through this post.

On March 12, all of the grandchildren received a group text. Our Nying Nying was stable in the ICU following a massive heart attack. I felt relieved knowing that my 90-year-old grandmother would not enter the Emergency Room with a heart attack and then succumb to COVID in the ICU because she had already been vaccinated. 

Likewise, I felt comforted knowing that her only living son (my uncle) would not have to choose between possibly visiting his mother on her deathbed and his own mortality (for indeed the combination of COVID on top of his COPD would mean his demise). Their choices to be vaccinated months earlier had saved our family not only from a deadly disease but heartbreakingly difficult decisions.

No visitors were allowed in the ICU, so I flew out to see her when she finally made it home. I arrived to see my feisty and proud grandmother (whose sass and sarcasm I obviously inherited) now a frail, silver-haired form slumped in a recliner. I crumpled to the floor, and the dam of emotions burst. I held her hand, and my tears saturated her sleeve.

I spent the next 24 hours at her side until I had to fly back for hospital work Monday morning.  

I was lucky. I work in a hospital setting, so I got first dibs on Covid vaccination back in December 2020. I had been fully vaccinated for a while before my grandmother’s heart gave out. My cousins and my brother could only send flowers and loving sentiments from afar because, at the time, they were not eligible for vaccination. They could only hope that Nying Nying would continue to hang on long enough for them to get vaccinated and visit safely, maybe for the last time.

My grandmother had a setback during her recovery. Se needed to be admitted to a skilled nursing facility (SNF). Because she was vaccinated, I didn’t worry that her name would be added to the list of nursing home deaths prevalent early in the pandemic. 

Fortunately, by the time she was well enough for discharge, all of her grandchildren had been vaccinated.

She made it out of the ICU. 

She made it out of the skilled nursing facility. 

She made it home. 

I’m not going to lie… I would have been furious with her if my grandmother had delayed her vaccination and contracted Covid from her ICU bed or if her physical therapy at the SNF put her in Covid’s destructive path. My profound grief would have been tainted with anger if her preventable Covid death would have deprived me of one last goodbye. 

In December 2020, I said that I was choosing to get the COVID-19 vaccine to hug my grandmother again without fear that it would kill her. Her heart attack almost stole that hug from me.

I did not, however, have to decide, “Do I selfishly scurry through a crowded airport and hop on a plane to see her one last time? Or do I love her enough to keep her safe by staying away?” 

Vaccination rescued me from a lifetime of guilt that whispering the words “I love you” in her ears might have been a Covid kiss of death for my grandmother.

So many families never got that one more warm embrace. So many families lost someone after a gathering they did not realize was so risky. 

As I sit here at her kitchen table while Nying Nying is napping, I am so grateful that the Covid vaccination gave me today… this one more day with the person I cherish most in this world. 

If I grow a tail tomorrow (or insert whatever internet vaccine conspiracy theory here), so be it. It was all worth it. This miracle of Medicine gifted my family with more precious moments.

Heart attacks and car accidents happen every day. I guess what I’m saying is… now that almost everyone is eligible for Covid vaccination, why wait until it’s too late?

Get vaccinated for the people you love.

Get vaccinated for the people that love you.

Of course, I felt terrible that my comments made my mom cry. But, sometimes the truth hurts… and hurts way more than the Covid vaccine my mother finally got. 

Tough love. 

By: Dr. Stacey Thomas, Obgyn Physician at MacArthur Medical Center

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