Parent, kids reverse roles following operation

It seems like just yesterday that I was changing diapers for my kids. First, for my daughter, and then, 10 years later, for my son. I don’t remember any one particular diaper change, they all kind of blend together.

However, the diaper change I would have remembered the most would have been the one where my kids changed my diaper. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. But it felt close.

After a recent surgery, I saw the roles reverse with my kids and me.

For years, caring for my kids, raising my kids, became a routine – making sure they had a lunch for school (I don’t think either of them ever ate a meal in the school cafeteria), making sure they got to school, getting them wherever they needed to go, providing them with clothes and everything else kids need when they’re growing up. The list seemed endless.

Then suddenly, it seemed, it stopped once my son was grown. And I felt a bit adrift, no longer sure what my role in their lives were, and what my role in my own life was. If I wasn’t a parent raising kids, then who was I?

In the last couple of weeks, however, I got to see that same kind of care from their perspective.

On the day of my surgery, there was my son, riding with me the two-and-a-half hours to the hospital (I talked him in to letting me drive) in a trip that started at 3 in the morning.

They were both there with me in the hospital, intently listening to hospital personnel when I was admitted, then to the surgeon and nurses both before my surgery and afterwards.

They were there when I woke up, much like parents patiently waiting for their child to awake from a nap.

My son drove me home, and was beyond patient when I told him I had to pull over (which turned into a two hour wait by an old volunteer fire department) and even when I asked him not to drive over 45 the rest of the trip because I felt so sick. I’m not sure I could have done that.

And he was patient, as well as willing, to change my catheter bag that night and the next day.

My daughter looked after me for the next week, taking me to and from Little Rock for a follow-up appointment. Stopping for frequent bathroom breaks. Constantly checking on me throughout the week to make sure I was ok.

It was a weird feeling, almost surreal, to see my kids taking care of me. For me to be the one, almost helpless at first, as they made sure I wasn’t in pain, that I wasn’t lacking for anything, making sure I drank plenty of water, took my meds, and checking to see if I was doing my breathing exercises, no matter how much I didn’t want to.

I didn’t like depending on others for almost everything in the first few days after the surgery, didn’t like reverting back to almost feeling like a kid again.

But I was happy that I had two kids who stepped into the role of being a parent. And even happier (as I’m sure were my kids) that they didn’t have to change a diaper.