My mother is on eighteen, count them, eighteen different medications. For various illnesses whether they be genetic, age associated, or envrionmentally created, they all come with their own pill or pills and certainly other pills to aid with the multiple side effects of those pills (are you dizzy yet?). She of course, like many, falls into two categories which make her the prime target for what I believe to be a viscious cycle of mental illness and over prescribing. I have been the primary care taker for my mother for many years now and at 30 I am now part of the first generation to make the flip into young parental caretakers. I have always understood these things to be true – mommy is sick, mommy needs medicine.

Eighteen though! It seems outrageous and yet her story is not uncommon in the American household these days. 15% of Americans on medications are taking 5 or more according to washingtonpost.com (2017). The opiod crisis is certainly a terrible one, and yet I find the over prescribing crisis a brushed off red headed step child compared to the former. It has become increasingly more difficult over the years to keep all of them straight and to continue to watch my mother struggle with little to no relief from any of her medications. I strive to one day find the answer to the question that is burning deep inside of me as bothersome as the chicken and the egg dilemma – is it necessary?

When I take a step back and I look at the person before me calmly sitting at her laptop computer much like she does when she comes home from work, I am in awe. How she stays functional on her “good days” is beyond me. The ever evolving rotation of illnesses which plague her are unbelievable and the ever revolving door of medications and side effects to match are dizzying. Yet here she sits, calmly. Today is a good day and I admire the strength it must take for her to push past the darkness, pain, and agony. It is like this some nights when she is her and her pain is at a 8 of 10 instead of a 10 and there is clarity. Those are the nights I live for.

Even on the good nights, then comes the parade of meds. It begins with insulin for type 2 diabetes (admitedly one of the few pathologies which could have been prevented or improved by habits). A little clear before the meal, a lot of cloudy before bed, maybe some in the morning if your blood sugar is still above 300. Then come the pills. On nights when mom can’t get her meds for herself, she recites her chant of times of day and I follow along as we go drawer by drawer down her labeled catalog. “One at night, one in the morning.”, “two at night, none in the morning.”, “one at night, one in the morning, one in the afternoon.”, “None at night, two in the morning.”, and so on and so forth down the line of seventeen pill form medications. Anxiety, Depression, Bipolar, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Osteoarthritis, Supraventricular Tachycardia (SVT), Thyroid Disorder, Diabetes, Asthma, Lupus, Allergies, Hypertension, High Cholesterol, Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD), and various undiagnosed conditions of the skin, nervous, and endocrine systems – which yes are medicated for while still undiagnosed. Not to mention the three or four meds I am not counting as they are over the counter drugs to assist with side effects of the others. Some of the drugs she is on contradict the others! I am beginning to wonder if now the doctors are playing whack a mole with my mother’s body, or is there a deeper and perhaps less wellness driven reason for the over prescribing?

In the next series of my writings I will explore the possibilities, wonders, and first hand account of two of the biggest epidemics in our country – over prescribing of medications and the new generation of adult caretakers of mentally ill parents. I will take a deep dive into the reality and sometimes ugly truths of caring for an adult parent, a mentally ill loved one, and beginning a life of my own within that at 30. Please share with me any comments, stories of your own, or questions! I will love to discuss with you my very real life stories.