The filling in the sandwich...part 1

Great news! Ma went back to the orthopaedist and her arm is healing with no problems. She should be out of the cast by Christmas!
The broken arm episode has made me think more about being the filling part of the "sandwich generation". If you're not a bit of a ham who is able to take baloney, you'll look like a turkey! Until 6 years ago, I lived close enough to my parents that I communicated with them on a daily basis. It was a 20 minute drive to their house. On the one hand, I was watching them adjust to retirement and the difficulties that advancing years bring. On the other hand, I was dealing with the "teenaged angst" of my own three kids. Ma and Pop dispensed the wisdom that comes from experience while my kids provided enough comic relief to make life bearable! That doesn't mean I didn't lose my mind at one point (I'll save that for another time).
When I lived close to Ma and Pop, I was a part of their daily stuff. I got the "I pissed your mother off again" call from Pop every day! It was then my job to get the other side of the story from Ma. Turns out she wasn't mad at all. She was just needling him! Over 60+ years, they have developed a strange way of communication. When a stubborn man marries a woman with an Irish temperament, it's bound to be exciting. They can discuss anything, then each goes off and does what s/he planned to do in the first place! If either had a health issue, I could talk them through it or take them to the doctor.
Occasionally, I would deliver a "how to manage your health" lecture. Ma was placed on Coumadin several years ago. I didn't know about it until I noticed her Medic Alert bracelet. When I asked her how often she had her blood level checked (something that has to be done so the patient doesn't bleed to death!) she said that no one had told her anything about getting any level checked. I was on the phone in less than a nanosecond and she had blood drawn within the hour!
Since we've moved, I feel disconnected in a way. When Pop had his stroke, he called me at 630 that Sunday morning. I could tell that his speech was slurred and he told me he was having difficulty moving his left side. This had been going on for about 2 hours! I asked him why he was calling me and not 911! He said that he thought I could tell him what was wrong with him. Well DUH!! He was having a stroke! I instructed him to call 911 and get to the hospital NOW! He said the would have "one of the guys" (Bud or Russ) take him later. I had him put Ma on the phone. I told her "911--NOW". She was easier to convince that an ambulance would be the best way to get to the ER! Then, I waited, very anxiously, for an update. Sitting in a waiting room can be hard, waiting by a phone is harder! My imagination conjured up some awful scenarios! When I finally got word from Ma that afternoon, Pop was stable and resting comfortably. Driving down for a visit was difficult, too. Especially when he was in the nursing home for rehab. Every time I would get on the interstate to drive home, I was crying. I would think about Pop's physical losses, his loss of independence and privacy, Ma's frailty, and my own loss. My parents are aging. Would my next trip "home" be for a happy occasion, an illness, or a funeral? Fortunately for me, my parents both have wonderful senses of humor and practicality. Ma's frequent falls have led to a head CT which, according to her, gives documented evidence that she has a brain. Pop's stroke hasn't kept him from his ceramics, something he loves to do. His mind is still sharp as a tack!
And me, the sandwich filling, will call regularly, visit when I can, and wait for the next disaster.