Parenting Styles - Context is King

As a child and young adult, I was constantly frustrated by how my parents would be overprotective of me. It was not surprising however since my parents married late and I was their only child.

When I went on a school road trip to Kodaikanal (not sure if it was in 11^th or 12^th), my father could barely sleep for the few days I was gone. Not that he told me of course, my mother did that a few years later (he rarely shares his emotions, a trait I've inherited). He sold his bike as soon as I turned 18 because some psychic said I’d die in a crash (seriously).

My mother would also be scared out of her mind whenever I’d go (or even think about going) on a long distance trip on my own. The older I grew, the more frustrating this style of parenting became for me.

I would never advocate anyone to pick up this style of parenting. It hindered my growth as a human being and I was being left behind by my peers in a lot of ways. This sort of pampering also fostered a level of petulance that took me a while to get out of.

But with all that being said, I now realise that there are some moments in life where this style of parenting does feel welcome.

The Grass Isn’t Always Greener on the Other Side

I’ve recently been diagnosed with Covid and right now it’s been fairly mild. Fever, body pain and cough. Some tachypnea but nothing distressing.

But I still cannot get over this nagging feeling that no one really gives a shit about what happens to me in here. Perhaps it’s just a reflection of Covid fatigue in general but it’s safe to say that no one’s praying for my safe recovery.

Considering that some of my replies this past day have included requests for PG prep advice, counselling advice, ECG advice and a trip to Leh-Ladakh, it’s a nice reminder of exactly what we mean to the ones around us. I've received more requests *for help than to help*. I help a lot of people out sure, but it’s unlikely that anyone will be shedding much of a tear if I go upstairs by the looks of it. 

The fact that no one at all seems particularly concerned gives me feel anxious and lonely. So much so that I’m not sure what exactly is due to the virus and what exactly is due to my own mind being just hyperaware of subtle insignificant changes in my condition.

Unfortunately, this is also not the first time something like this happened to me. Between my theory and practical exams in final year MBBS, I got a really bad case of pneumonia. It was so bad I could barely get out of bed for 2 days, let alone go to the pharmacy to get some meds. My mother had passed away a few months prior back then and my father was away on business in North India and had poor phone service. It was only when a family friend randomly showed up that I could get some meds.

While I did recover, I found myself in my first serious episode of depression (or maybe it was some post-viral syndrome, who knows). I didn’t feel like doing anything. Felt the loneliest I’ve ever felt till that point and was tired as hell. It was only by some miracle that managed not to flunk practicals (a story for another day). It was a horrific couple of weeks.

The feeling of being alone while you’re sick is truly one of the worst. You’re already physically weak and then the lack of support weakens your mental fortitude as well. One cannot underestimate the role of loved ones in this situations like this. We all need a “pick me up” at times like this whether we like to admit it or not.

We All Have to Pay for our Sins Sometime

Both my parents went through awful, chronic diseases for many years before they left. When my mother first got cancer, I was in 11^th standard. I did not have the maturity at that point to truly be the good son that she needed back then.

After my father’s stroke, I had basically become the man of the house (not that it meant much to Aunt May, who didn’t tell me she was selling our house). I spent 2 and a half years juggling multiple jobs, living with barely enough cash in the bank to avoid deductions and trying to to manage problems with the maid and the home nurse.

While I was more mature by this point, I  was often exhausted reaching home after 12 hour (or more) shifts at far away locations. This often meant I was not able to provide the sort of emotional support I really wanted to give. One day he told me was just so fed up with life in general because of the boredom and it really broke my heart.

Home nurses would also come and go in quick succession and I struggled to keep control of what kind of nonsense went on at my house while I was away on duty (far too many stories for this post, sorry). I finally got a very good home nurse, Shane, who was perfect except for the fact that he was a fairly short man who also had a limp due to an old accident that injured his leg.

One day, my father slipped and hit his head while doing physio with our home nurse. He needed some stitches and also had a mild ICH but thankfully didn’t have any new deficits because of it. All my relatives told me to fire Shane but after some thought, I decided against it. He was almost perfect at his job (most others would rarely bother to even get my father out of bed). All those relatives passing judgement were never around at home to really see what kind of job he did.

Things only went worse from there however. My father became progressively more swollen as his heart and kidney failure started to worsen. On his final admission, a CT scan showed a small subdural hemorrhage that wasn’t there earlier. But I was not aware of any trauma history. Did he fall again and did Shane choose not to tell me in order to save his job? I’m not sure but I sure did feel guilty about it even though it didn’t warrant any intervention as such.

Last night I sat here and thought about all these things and how perhaps the loneliness and gloom I feel inside is what I deserve for not being the son I should have been while I still had the chance. And I also regretted how if my parents were still around, this entire ordeal would be much less painful even if it were only via a phonecall.

Learning to Recover

While I have largely learnt to deal with the misfortunes in my life over the years, whenever an acute stressor comes into play, my lack of support becomes exposed. Some people call me strong but *I’ve never actually felt strong, like ever*.

I’m still struggling to keep it together on days like this - in an isolated, closed room left to my thoughts. The only phone calls ask you the same mundane questions you’re tired of answering. People showing concern more as a form of courtesy rather than a genuine reaction.

No matter how many tears I shed at times like this, my parents aren’t coming back. And those who do show interest in helping mostly lose it just as quickly once they realise empty words aren’t enough.

With more health problems likely on the horizon with my family history, I need to find a new form resilience to withstand stressors. Your parents raise you and then you become the parent for them later on. But how does one withstand the pain when both isolation and guilt come in tandem?