Who needs healthcare and why do they ever need it?
My choice of healthcare comes from having received and given that method of restoration throughout most of my life.
People at all stages of their lives need to have extra care. Getting born, giving birth, sickness, operations, end-of-life. Any time a person has an illness or circumstance where they’re unable to care for themselves, they need someone to care for them.
My parents loved and cared for their only child through her health struggles. My MS (Multiple Sclerosis) diagnosis at seventeen happened way too early for any of us to fathom, understand, or know.
That’s not unusual. That’s what parents do. Parents care for their children.They have worldwide for centuries. Halfway through my seventeen year, my dear parents got shocking news.
“It’s difficult for me to say this. Your spinal tap fluid we took two weeks ago came back from Pittsburgh Diagnostic Lab.”
He hesitated for a few seconds. Then in his gentle doctor voice said,
“You have Multiple Sclerosis.“
Dr. Thomas Dugan, Nueropsychologist, told us that sweltering mid-July day in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. He looked at me with compassion as he spoke.
The keystone state of Pennsylvania has two seasons, some say in jest; Winter and the Fourth of July. Summer heat sometimes lingers for a few days or weeks. Some summer temps never get very warm at all. That day turned out hotter for us than temperature.
What we heard wasn’t a joke, either. Doctor Dugan looked serious. His face registered concern. None of us had ever heard of Multiple Sclerosis. When Mother started crying while dad looked stoic, my thoughts wandered.
Not too much though. Recent high school graduate emotions lingered making me a happy camper. Thoughts of college in a month raced through my mind.
- Clothes to choose and pack.
- Who would be there?
- Making new friends.
- Different people fascinated me.
- Would classes be difficult?
- On my own.
- Away from home.
Now, a strange doctor told me an incurable disease revaged my body. He also said that having children wasn’t a good idea. It could be harmful to me.
Who cared or even thought about having children? Or even getting married? In the late fifties, marriage BEFORE children most people thought proper.
“They must know something about whatever Dr. Dugan said.
What was it? Multiple something that started with an S.”
In a few months, I would discover the awful truth of Multiple Sclerosis or MS. Stress of final exams made MS rear its ugly head. I relapsed into numbness, paralysis, or both.
A sharp stabbing pain behind usually my left ear feels like something inside my head attacks with a sharp knife. My primary care doctor prescribed an 800 mg tablet every twelve hours. Pain stops.
But it returns for a few days. Then leaves as quickly as it began.
Multiple Sclerosis symptoms go from almost nothing to full paralysis with total numbness. Mine usually limited themselves to numbness and/or paralysis in one or several body parts.
Always a surprise. Never a pleasure. Dr. Dugan prescribed a five milligram tablet of nicotinic acid (B Vitamin) with eight ounces of water after every meal. That flushes blood vessels. Disease Modifying Drugs weren’t on the market in 1958.
With total rest for two weeks taking nicotinic acid three times each day, numbness and/or paralysis all gone. I returned to college. Just one week of work to make up because of the week between semesters.
Giving Healthcare to
Precious mother, who taught me to read at four by reading to me each night at bedtime, always had health issues. Each month, she spent a day or two in bed on the heating pad with period pain. Later on, there were several surgeries, and one ailment after another.
She seemed to be sick a lot. But, when she developed a chronic cough that seemed like it never would end, her lung cancer diagnosis left us all devastated.
My beautiful amazing sixty-four-years-old mother developed lung cancer. No, she never smoked a cigarette in her life. I moved home to help dad with her care.
She saw how emotionally difficult a task I found it. After a few weeks, she insisted I stay with my favorite cousin in a neighboring town. Only sixty miles from my parents’ home allowed me to easily drive to be with her on weekends or when I needed a ‘Mommy-fix.’
My being there to care for Mom enabled Dad to have a day or few hours break from care taking. He freely admitted to me that this relief helped quite a lot.
I loved being with Mom. However, seeing her debilitating condition sometimes made me cry. Mom soothed me. Again. Over forty, yet still her baby.
Fortunately, I’d enrolled in a counseling class at a nearby college. Graduate students practiced grief counseling. The woman taught me breathing techniques to help control those crying urges.
As a trained singer, slow controlled diaphragmatic breathing came easily to me.These breathing strategies helped me in public. However, when Mother and I were alone together, my crying jags often got hold of me.
My MS research and talking with others acquainted with MS told me how it often controls emotions. My soft-heart nature causes me to cry at the drop-of-a-hat. Even slow breathing fails to comfort me.
My breath catches, when seeing something utterly beautiful, grand beyond belief, a distressed animal or person. Throat tightens. Tears flow freely.