I am not her mother, her doctor, her legal guardian. I am not her coach, teacher, or assisted living staffer. I am her sister.
…until, that is, a couple of days later, when she still sounded tired and unhappy on the phone with me, wasn’t really interested in eating, and had developed a fever. All of the wonderful words and affirmations of life without unnecessary worry that I’ve written about here (new window) were completely wiped out. As I’ve learned from my own frequent doctor’s visits over the past few years, high fevers normally accompany a bacterial infection. Bacterial infections are known to result from dental work (there are a lot of bacteria in the mouth, and any injury can create a physical opportunity for bacteria to enter the blood). Indeed, I had to take antibiotics before visiting the dentist for a year or two because a slight imperfection in my heart might predispose me to fatal infection.
That I reacted with such strong emotion is not a great thing. I am not my sister’s anything…except sister. My righteous indignation, or just plain anger, do not have a significant place in the legal and medical framework of her care. My own depth of education into the biology of disease thus becomes a burden; I know enough to become worried or to recognize problem areas, but I don’t have the power or knowledge to help. For both of our sakes, I need to learn how to let my family have their lives continue without me immediately available, if only to be stronger and more capable at a later point when our daily lives can or must be rejoined. And I think I have to give myself permission to treat letting go as a difficult goal to achieve, and not feel bad that I haven’t mastered those emotions after ten years of living away from them.