Today is a significant day; my daughter turns 18, and I'm reflecting on the gift of shared responsibility. The journey of parenting is filled with unexpected twists, and one of them is the realization that driving becomes a major part of your life!
I remember the early morning drives to rowing practice, where I reluctantly agreed to let my eager teenager behind the wheel. It's a nerve-wracking experience, but one that teaches valuable lessons. As we navigated the roads, I held my breath, literally gripping my ribs, and focused intently on every move. A friendly honk from a passing truck felt like a cosmic nudge, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this.
When planning a family, the thought of driving lessons and endless hours on the road isn't usually top of mind. But here's where it gets controversial: the burden of care and responsibility often falls disproportionately on women, and this is the part most people miss.
In my work as a geriatric oncologist, I witness the spectrum of human experiences. I meet couples who have weathered life's storms together, and those who have faced loneliness and loss. I see the impact of cognitive decline and organ failure, and the insidious nature of loneliness. It's a window into the lives of caregivers, and a stark reminder of the gender imbalance.
I've noticed a pattern: it's almost always women who accompany patients to appointments. Daughters, daughters-in-law, nieces, granddaughters, and female friends and neighbours step up to provide support. They take notes, facilitate telehealth connections, and advocate for their loved ones. It's a powerful display of care and commitment.
One son stands out in my memory. For five years, he dedicated himself to his mother's care, bringing her to appointments and sharing precious moments with her great-grandchild. As her ability to communicate faded, he adapted, matching his pace to her needs. His devotion is a testament to the love and sacrifice that caregivers offer.
Taking a parent to an appointment is more than just a time commitment. It's about being an advocate, a listener, and a source of comfort. It's about knowing their medical history, understanding their needs, and ensuring they receive the best care. And here's where the gender imbalance becomes evident.
When I ask about recent medication changes or specialist appointments, it's often the daughter who has the answers. Sons might say, "I don't know, ask my sister." But daughters are prepared, with diaries in hand. The practical outcome is that daughters end up carrying the burden, interrupting their much-needed respite to provide care.
It's a common sight to see multiple daughters attending medical visits, asking questions, taking notes, and providing eyewitness accounts. They remind their parents of important details, encouraging honesty about their health. It's a powerful team effort, but one that's rarely replicated by sons.
Why does this matter? Because even in the modern age, women make up the majority of primary caregivers. They provide an astonishing 2.2 billion hours of informal care each year, valued at $77.9 billion. The peak age for women to become caregivers is 55, a time when they're also facing their own set of challenges: adult children at home, aging parents, marital adjustments, and the changes of menopause.
For my friends and I, this is a familiar story. Every "state of the nation" report begins with discussions about our parents' health and appointments. Caring for our elders is a noble cause, but it comes at a cost. Women often work less, earn less, and worry more as they take on the lion's share of unpaid care.
As a doctor, I witness the physical, emotional, and financial toll on women who find themselves in the role of caregiver. We need a rulebook, a guide to help navigate these uncharted waters. And that's why I'm conscious of the gift I want to give my daughter as she turns 18.
I want to ensure she has a balanced adult life, where duty to self and service to others are in harmony. My daughter is the type who gives selflessly, so it feels strange, yet necessary, to counsel her to recognize the importance of shared care. Today, it's her grandparents; tomorrow, it will be her parents.
I don't want my daughter to be the sole planner, helper, and caregiver in her family. So, I ask her brothers to step up, to do their fair share of housework, and to invest their time and energy into caring for others. I hope they will carry these values into their own homes, creating a culture of shared responsibility.
As my daughter embarks on her driving journey, I hope society will continue to challenge gender stereotypes. I want her to drive not because it's "women's work," but because she's the one who's free and willing. It's a small step towards a more equitable future, where the burden of care is shared by all.
