It was the morning of my eldest son’s maths GCSE exam last summer when I got the call that would change everything.
My mother had been found unresponsive in bed and an ambulance was on its way. “Don’t panic,” my cousin said gently, “but you need to get here quickly. She doesn’t look good.” She lived nearby and had rushed to my parents’ house after my father, unable to wake mum – normally an early riser – raised the alarm.
A million thoughts raced through my mind, some sensible, others not. What was happening to my mother? Was she going to die? How quickly could I get there? I had work that day – should I take the day off? Should I pack for a night or a week? Would my son be upset that I wouldn’t be there after his GCSE exam? And what about my younger son, who was in the middle of year nine exams?
It’s the sort of situation plenty of us in our 50s and 60s find ourselves in – responding (sometimes regularly) to crises with elderly parents while also caring for teenage children, juggling work, relationships, and, for many, the menopause. There are days when simply making it to bedtime feels like a victory.
In this particular moment, it was clear that my mother, who had celebrated her 80th birthday just weeks earlier, needed me most. My husband called my employer, who was understanding and sympathetic (thank you, Rest Less!), while I dashed to the A&E department at Chelsea & Westminster, where my sister met me.
Doctors initially suspected a stroke, but a CT scan ruled this out. After hours of waiting, testing, and watching her deteriorate, the medical team suddenly sprang into action. They discovered she had an aortic aneurysm and dissection – a life-threatening condition in which the wall of the aorta tears, allowing blood to leak between its layers. Up to 50% of patients with this condition die before reaching a specialist centre.
She was blue-lighted across London to Hammersmith Hospital, where she underwent emergency open-heart surgery. It lasted seven hours. The doctors gave her a 50/50 chance of surviving, so when they called in the early hours to say she had made it through and was now on a ventilator in intensive care, it felt like a miracle.
Holding it together
Weirdly, that horrific day and night were, in retrospect, almost easier than the weeks and months that followed.
Like many in the ‘sandwich generation’, my sister and I faced a relentless routine. We bounced between hospital visits and our father’s care on the other side of London. He was lost without mum and increasingly affected by dementia and incontinence, but was adamant he didn’t want a carer. He refused to change his clothes unless persuaded. Without detailed weekly meal plans and microwave instructions, he either forgot to eat or lived on ice cream. We worried about them both constantly.
At home, our husbands were doing their best to hold things together – looking after the children, working, and dealing with their own parents. The guilt of only managing fleeting visits home, and not being fully present for our teenagers during crucial exams, weighed heavily on both my sister and me. And while my employer was hugely supportive, I still felt a responsibility to deliver.
Sadly, as is so often the case, the challenges didn’t stop there. During her surgery, my mother suffered a series of mini-strokes. And her ongoing recovery has been slow and difficult.
Six months after her operation, Christmas Day was spent in A&E, this time with my father. He was diagnosed with carcinoma of unknown primary – a cancer diagnosis given when doctors can’t identify the origin. He was 83, with other serious health problems, and the cancer had already spread. He died less than three months later, on 4th March this year.
Melanie’s parents and children last year, three months before her mother’s heart surgery and 11 months before her father died
Lessons from a year of crisis
If you find yourself in a similar situation, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But amidst the fear, grief, and guilt of the past few months, a few things helped me cope – and may help you, too.
1. Talk to people who’ve been through it
Listening to others who have supported parents while raising children can be incredibly helpful. So many people in midlife have dealt with serious illness or the loss of one or both parents. Hearing how they coped can make you feel less alone. I also used the Macmillan Online Community when I found some of my father’s symptoms distressing and wanted to know how to help him.
2. People’s kindness
People are amazing. I’ve received messages, prayers, meals, flowers, and numerous lifts for the boys, from friends, colleagues, and near-strangers alike. These gestures may seem small, but when you’re in crisis, they can feel life-changing.
If you don’t have a strong support network, there are forums and resources you can turn to for advice and connection, depending on the particular issues you’re dealing with. For example, there are usually charities associated with most serious medical conditions, many of which offer online communities where you can chat with either medical professionals and/ or those going through similarly traumatic experiences. As mentioned, I found Macmillan’s service invaluable, and also the British Heart Foundation for any heart health questions. It’s also worth contacting your local GP practice and finding out what help could be available to you.
If you’re struggling emotionally, you can contact the Samaritans at any time of the night or day by telephone on 116 123. The website AtaLoss.org can provide support and information if you’re facing bereavement or have lost someone you love and can signpost where to get help.
3. Taking time out
Taking even an hour for yourself when times are difficult can feel indulgent, but it’s vital. My coping mechanism was walking. In London, I’d meet one of my closest friends early in Battersea Park to talk things through before hospital visits and work. Back home, I had walking friends, too. These moments saved my sanity. Whether it’s walking, reading, a podcast, or film – finding even a short escape helps restore some sense of normality
4. Children are resilient
You often feel like you’re short-changing someone – your parents, your children, or your spouse. I wish I’d realised sooner how resilient children can be. My sons understood I couldn’t always be there, and they were hugely supportive. Their friends had faced similar losses, and that shared understanding helped them, too. Both my sons and my husband read beautifully at my father’s Thanksgiving service while I was in pieces.
5. There are no rules
Everyone’s experience is different. Don’t expect yourself to react a certain way or recover on a set timeline. Grief is unpredictable. I know I’ve barely started to process everything. But I’ve learned that there’s no “right” way to feel – and no timeline you need to follow.
If you’re struggling, our articles on Coping with grief and loss and How to cope with losing your parents may help.
Final thoughts...
This past year has taught me about resilience, the value of support, and the absolute necessity of looking after yourself. But perhaps most importantly, it’s shown me how powerful it can be to talk, to listen – and to remind each other that we’re not alone in this.
Have you found yourself torn between looking after unwell parents and your children? Do you have any additional tips that you’d like to share? We’d be interested to hear from you in the comments below.