Hugs, not drugs, for seniors

We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth.

~ Virginia Star

Occasionally, we need potent drugs to alleviate symptoms or treat disease. But, Western seniors are over-drugged and under-hugged.

My grandmother died at the age of 95. She lived on an island in the middle of the Atlantic for 75 of her 95 years. She joined us in Canada for her last two decades. Grandma had a great social network in her home country and ate what nature provided. She walked without aid until she died. She took no medication other than an aspirin occasionally. Her sisters, too, lived well into their 90’s - drug-free.

Sadly, her daughter, my mother, has a blister pack with at least a dozen prescribed drugs, most of which I believe she could have managed without. Drug side effects from the medication taken have led to more degenerative disease conditions and the need to numb more symptoms. Mom's quality of life has deteriorated as a result.

Medicating normal life experiences

It started in 1992 when her mother, my grandmother, died. While grieving, mom was diagnosed with depression. Her mood was a normal reaction to an adverse life event.

The way I see it, mom was a victim of the times. Depression became widely diagnosed when antidepressants became readily available. Doctors started medicating uncomfortable feelings. Mood disorders began to be over-diagnosed and drugs prescribed like candy.

While many people claim to have benefited from such medication, depression is not a drug deficiency disease. There are lifestyle factors that help achieve much more sustainable relief.

A life well-lived

Mom had no family history of mental illness. When asked by a psychiatrist about any adverse childhood events, she claimed to have had a very happy childhood.

She was a gifted student in her youth, had countless friends, and was a talented seamstress, crocheter, singer and actress.

In 1971, mom and dad brought my three siblings and me to Toronto. My youngest sister was born over a decade later when my mother was in her mid-forties.

My parents bought nothing unless they could pay cash for it. Mom raised all of us, cooking all our meals, sewing many of our clothes, running a home daycare, managing the bookkeeping and collection of interest for loans she made to those in need, and later looking after her grandchildren. She never hesitated to help those in need.

Because my grandmother lived with us, we often hosted aunts, uncles and cousins from abroad. Everyone appreciated my mother’s cooking, storytelling and hospitality.

Respecting mom's wishes for medical attention

This week I had the opportunity to reflect on what led us here. A long-overdue appointment with a psychiatrist took place on Wednesday.

Mom has been grieving the loss of my father since April 2020. They had been together for 61 years. She believes he was a victim of neglect during hospital lockdowns.

The appointment was via telephone. I helped with translation.

Until my father’s death, my mother had complete trust and respect for the medical establishment. She was compliant with public health measures, never smoked, and seldom drank or ate out. She took her medication as prescribed and her flu shot annually.

Although she is not compliant with new inoculations that have caused harm to several in her community, she continues to seek a magic pill to alleviate emotional pain.

As the doctor reviewed my mother’s health history and the medications she takes, there were subtle hints that mom has been misdiagnosed and over-treated. A grief counsellor will be sought. This psychiatrist, and two others from the past, don't seem to have much time for talk therapy.

In the meantime, the dose of a tranquillizer was increased. The doctor prescribed an anti-anxiety drug to the already maxed-out dose of an antidepressant. The hope was to phase out a dangerous benzodiazepine (benzo). Benzos are not meant for long-term use. Any effort I have made in the past to caution about prolonged use has been largely ignored.

Benzos are highly addictive. They offer rapid, short-term relief that can easily create dependence and tolerance. They have severe side effects. Withdrawal can be debilitating for some.

I had read recently about Jordan Peterson’s near-death withdrawal experience. I pray it’s easier for my mother.

Closing thoughts

Sometimes when you hurt inside, the only medicine that'll help is a great big hug.

~Jeff Keane

Mom lives alone in her Toronto home. Although she is visited several times per week and occasionally stays with one of her children, without a doubt, she has been more lonely, anxious and depressed since my father died. She no longer has a "can do" attitude. Yet, in her eighties, she still manages her finances and some minor household chores without in-home care.

Helping her navigate healthcare appointments, providing nutritious food when possible, offering words of encouragement, and the occasional hug, are all I can manage to pull off right now.

Every day I wish I could do more. I am grateful to my siblings for all the help they offer.