LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Gay 'n Gray |
by John D. Siegfried |
The Curse of Independence
More than a year ago my car conked out in the parking lot of California Pizza Kitchen. I could have called a cab or called my partner to come pick me up. But no! I started walking down Federal Highway to our condo a mile or so away. I'd only gone a short distance when, to my amazement, a car stopped and an attractive young couple asked whether I needed a ride. My immediate assumption was that they either noticed the reflection from the street lamp on my silver hair (silver sounds so much more sophisticated than gray) or they noticed the imperceptible limp that accompanied me as I walked. My instinctive mental reaction to this very generous offer of assistance was to say, "No thank you. I don't need help." But my arthritic knees said, "Get over yourself." My knees won the argument and I said, "Gee, that's really very kind of you. I would appreciate a lift." At some inconvenience to themselves, these strangers in the night maneuvered through traffic and took me directly to the door of my condo. Howard, my partner, chewed me out thoroughly and appropriately when I told him of my good fortune. "They were total strangers, you idiot," he harrumphed. "You could have been reamed, raped or robbed," he added. With a weak smile I responded, "No such luck. None of those opportunities were offered or even hinted at." But since that time, I've wondered on several occasions why it's so difficult for me, and for most of us, to accept help, even when we need it. Perhaps it's a uniquely American phenomenon. We pride ourselves nationally and personally on being independent. It's the number one priority from infancy on. As a pediatrician with more than thirty years of clinical experience and now as a volunteer with a group of two year olds in a pre-school program, I'm well aware that the first thing we drill into the developing minds of infants and toddlers is the concept of independence. The infant gets praised and lavished with rewards and affection for taking first steps and becoming mobile. The toddler gets more of the same for gaining control over bowels and bladder. Independence is the name of the game from our earliest months onward. "I can do it myself mother," is the cry of most children and adolescents and that need for self-sufficiency persists throughout adulthood for most of us. For seniors, whether gay, straight, pin-striped or polka dotted, there is nothing more fearful than losing those early hard won markers of independence. Perhaps more than anything else seniors fear loss of mobility and loss of bowel and bladder control. To be dependent on a walker or wheelchair, or to be forced to wear Depends or Poise is anathema to most seniorsand juniors too. The loss of independence and a return to infancy is a fate none of us want to contemplate. The older I get the more aware I am that my desire to be independent often conflicts with my ability to ask for and accept help when I need it. Independence doesn't always work in my best interest. I was reminded of that recently on a visit to my hometown to assist my ninety year old Aunt Frances in her medically dictated move from independent living in a seniors apartment complex to an assisted living facility. At ninety she has one lung, the cancerous one having been removed two decades ago. She has a pacemaker and is legally blind, but she insisted on living by herself. Against all professional and family advice, she wanted to stay in her own apartment rather than a facility geared to her physical limitations. She didn't fear the loneliness of sitting by herself for hours on end in her apartment, nor did she fear her failing health and ultimate demise. What she feared was the loss of her independence. Similarly, Edith, my father's cousin's third wife, but really a part of our remaining and dwindling nuclear family, at ninety-four and in failing health faces the choice of a hip replacement to alleviate her intractable leg pain or leaving the comfortable seniors' apartment that has been her home for the past fifteen years and entering a nursing home so that she can have the pain medications and medical assistance she requires to live out her remaining days. Again, the fear for Edith isn't the possibility of death during surgery; it's the loss of independence. I share my Aunt Fran's DNA and her fears, and I rarely, if ever, will ask for help with anything. "I can do it myself, mother," is a mantra that echoes in my past and permeates my present. But what has amazed me over the years is that, on the rare occasions when I've needed help and been able to ask for it, how friends, family, and even complete strangers, like my strangers-in-the-night-duo, are willing to pitch in and help me. I still recall with warmth and pleasure my experience of several decades ago when I flew from Philadelphia to Miami intent on a week of canoe camping in the Everglades. The trip was a birthday surprise planned by my wife and since we would be canoeing she left her wallet behind. When we attempted to rent a car at Budget, we were refused the rental because my driver's license had expired the previous day and her license was in her wallet at home. Renewal of Pennsylvania licenses at that time were, and probably still are, dictated by birth date. I had sent for the renewal and not received it before we left Philadelphia. So, no car. A couple standing nearby overheard our conversation with the Budget clerk and immediately offered to take us to where we wanted to go. "We're headed to Key West eventually but we're really here on vacation and don't have any fixed plans so we'll drive you to the Everglades," was their kind offer. We accepted on the spot and bought them lunch in return. The following morning, we posted a notice at the visitors' center hoping to find a ride back to the Miami airport and again, almost instantly, a young couple reading our sign, in broken-English, said, "We can help you." They were from Switzerland and on a driving trip along the east coast. Several weeks later, as they progressed north, they were our house guests for several days in our suburban Philadelphia home. But I forget these events and others like them, in my need to be independent. The fact is that what I really need is less independence and less of the, "I can do it myself" approach. I need more of the maturity and graciousness that simply says, "Thank you, I appreciate your help." John Siegfried, a former Rehoboth resident who now lives in Ft. Lauderdale, maintains strong ties to our community and can be reached at hsajds@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 17, No. 10 July 27, 2007 |