Sandwiched

I'm in the sandwich generation. Maybe some of you are as well.

My kids are 4 and 7, and my mom is in her late 70s. This is a big span of ages.

Betty lives with us, and this is good in so many ways. My kids are growing up with their Nana in their everyday lives. When they list our family, she is included. When Jordan reads at night after dinner, she is who he reads to.

If we are Facebook friends, you regularly see pictures of them together in the red chair.

But sometimes, one of my kids and my mom are ill or in need of some kind of help, and I get a little overwhelmed.

I do freelance writing and editing, but no longer have an office job. So when someone needs me, I am here. I can do what I need to do without calling a boss first, without sprinting home from the office.

This is a lucky position to be in. I know.

So.

My mom had been wheezing for a while. I would hear it every once in a while when we were sitting together. Once or twice I offered her my inhaler.

We all had colds all fall, so I figured it was connected. But this week it hit me that it had just been too often, for too long.

On Tuesday I asked her if she wheezes regularly.

Every day.

I asked if this concerned her and she said, "Maybe this is just how I am. I wheeze."

No. People do not just wheeze without a reason.

So I had her call her doctor, who, when she heard about the wheezing, was able to squeeze her in on Thursday.

And then Wednesday night Jordan started crying while Nick was brushing his teeth, which is how Nick wound up looking in his mouth, and then called me in, and then we both tried not to freak out so that Jordan wouldn't think it was something terrible.

It was a big bump on his gums, above his remaining top front tooth. Big, round, and sore.

I freaked out after he went to bed. What if it were something terrible?

Our dentist is away this week, so early yesterday morning we started calling around and got an emergency appointment with a pediatric dentist in Chevy Chase.

I asked if they thought we would have time get to K Street for my mom's appointment by 12:30. They said yes.

So we took Betty with us, and parked right across the street at Saks, because Betty said she would browse and also get parking validated. (Note: she got us free parking, plus they gave her a bunch of samples.)

The staff was lovely. The dentist was wonderful. And they kindly gave us a break on the anesthesia Jordan wound up needing.

Jordan had an infection. That was the big bump. The baby tooth had to come out.

But it took longer than expected. Because anesthesia, tooth extraction, hang out and breathe through the oxygen mask recovery.

All went well. He was a rock star. 

So at noon Betty got nervous about her appointment--as did I--and got a cab. But not before handing off our parking validation.

As soon as we could leave the dentist, Jordan and I raced down to K Street and parked in one of those lots that charge you like a million dollars an hour.

I am, on the whole, opposed to paying for parking, but sometimes it is just not optional.

We sprinted a block, Jordan complaining the whole way, and got to the waiting room in time for them to call my mom back.

I go to her appointments because she is a terrible self-reporter.

She'll be sick and when the doctor asks how she's doing she'll say, "Fine!"

Seriously. Her arm could fall off and she'd say she was fine. And if the doctor didn't notice, she'd come home and I'd ask what the doctor said about her missing arm and she'd say, "I forgot all about it."

So now I go to her appointments and she says she's fine and then I'll be all, "Except that you've been so sick you haven't been able to eat for three days, which is why we're here."

And then she'll say, "Oh, right. Except for the terrible nausea." Or inability to breathe. Or whatever it is. Severe pain somewhere. Arm falling off. Etc.

Also, I wanted to make sure to tell them that she's smoking. Yes. I wanted to tell on her.

She'd quit a couple years ago after getting pneumonia twice in one season and not being able to get out of bed for weeks. Honestly, weeks. Her doctor told her sternly that this was just going to keep happening if she kept smoking.

So she quit. I think.

A couple months ago, when I found out she was sneaking cigarettes, I said, just like a kid, "I'm telling your doctor on you!"

Ooh, I was so upset. She said she'd already told the doctor, but I wanted to make sure. Because it matters.

And I wanted to ask about COPD. Because I am terrified of this.

To sum up: Jordan lost his last front tooth, and is absolutely delighted.

Betty has pneumonia.

And me, I'm just very tired.