The Id and the Man

My father-in-law introduced me recently to the Freudian concept of the id, ego, and superego.  If you are ready to skip the rest of this post already, I don’t blame you.  I didn’t want to get into these concepts either.  But based on my dad’s current state, and what just happened, they are really top of mind.

For psych majors out there, a word of warning: I am going to butcher this.  Here goes anyway.

When we are born, we are all “id”.  It’s all desire.  Hunger, thirst, sleep, salt, touch.  Later in life, this also includes sex.  These are instinctive needs that underlie our will to live to ability to reproduce.  In Judaism, this is “yetzer hara”, the evil impulse.  It’s not evil per se; it’s what drives us to survive and without it, we would die.  They are inseparable from us, part of the whole us.

But if human beings we all only followed these impulses, we would collapse into anarchy.  So we have society, and society has rules.  Different societies have different rules but many are similar.  Thou shalt not kill, for example, is on one extreme.  Don’t wear white after Labor Day, I would argue, is on the other.  Now that I live in Wellesley, I get that not everyone would find these to be such polar opposites.  These ideas are implanted in the “superego”, which is aware of society’s customs and norms.

Between what society says and what desire demands – desire never asks, it only demands – is the “ego”.  The ego is the regulating force that understands when it’s time for sex and how to ask for it.  It is the director of the play that decides which actors to bring on stage.  Sometimes thirst is front and center and all else must cease while it has its moment in the spotlight.  It is the ego that calls it onto the stage, lets it speak its lines, and then moves it off to the side.  It is “yetzer hatov”, the good impulse, the part that understands that long-term love and commitment and good deeds also benefit the person demonstrating them.

It is said that as we age, we regress to what we were like when we were born.  Independence starts at zero, then increases, then decreases again.  So it is with my father right now.  He is turning into all id, all an unquenchable and bottomless desire to get every need met at the instant he feels it.  This is why he calls 20 times a day.  It is why he refuses his medication; he is convinced that the people dispensing it to him are trying to kill him and his survival instinct is kicking in.  Nowadays why when I don’t give him what he thinks he wants, exactly when he thinks he wants it, he will do or say anything to get it.

Hence the real purpose for this blog post.  It is not about psychology.  It is about the terrible things he says to me, how much I wish they didn’t hurt, and what I plan to do about it.

My father ordered an electric wheelchair on Amazon.  Everyone told him not to: doctors, nurses, my brother and me, the director of the community where he lives, everyone.  It was unanimous.  He won’t be allowed to ride it around the halls anyway.  He’s not safe to operate an electrical means of conveyance because he tends to fall asleep and doesn’t have the judgment to know whether he’s going too fast.  But for him, ability to move around has reached “id” levels.  So when it arrived, I asked the staff at Brookdale to send it back.

So he launched into a series of diatribes, including a long one about how I have been doing nothing but trying to steal from him.  I had made a bank transfer into one of his accounts from another so that I could pay his bills, which it turns out was incontrovertible proof that I was siphoning off his money.  I have made this same kind of transfer a thousand times.  Didn’t matter.

Then he insisted that he has an attorney visiting tomorrow to take away my brother’s and my proxy powers.  I don’t particularly enjoy making decisions like whether or not he should get an intubation tube if he has trouble breathing.  Who would?  But I am doing the best I can, and so is my brother.

This after a lovely morning where I organized for him with his hospice group to have a hot shower.  I don’t know how much time he has left, and before it is too late, I wanted him to have the sensation of warm water rolling down his body.  They needed me at one point so I helped lift him slowly while the nurses cleaned him off.  I held him under his right arm and supported him and watched the beads of water run down his back.

And this after I had convinced myself that I could work from his apartment during the week and had rearranged his desk so that I could be there as often as possible.  This way, when he woke up from his frequent naps, he would see me and know that he wasn’t alone.

Later I connected with the Executive Director, who is a prince of a man and has been so kind and supportive throughout the past difficult weeks.  I wanted to let him know that I was concerned, and also that this same lawyer somehow had spoken with my father about suing their assisted living community.  Apparently this scam is common and some unscrupulous attorneys reach out and find the vulnerable elderly to extract whatever legal fees they can before the end comes.

He could see how upset I was from how I was shaking.  He has seen this movie and starred in it himself as the son of someone deteriorating into an angry id and not much more.  He told me that it wasn’t really my father talking.  I don’t know.  I want to believe that.  I want to believe that this is just id, not ego, not the man who most likely brought me into the world.  I never thought I would write that sentence but I suppose it’s possible that he’s not really my father.

But it is also true that this version of the man isn’t really my father anyway.  That man disappeared sometime in May or June and I never saw it happen.  I fought hard to keep the universe from taking him from me, and while I wasn’t looking, it went ahead and reclaimed him anyway.

My time pondering this is almost done now; I convinced a relative to come visit him and she is on her way as I type.  I realize in a moment of calm that It’s only his id and not the rest of him.  I shouldn’t care about winning arguments with his id.  Ids will fight to the death because they know nothing else.  So really, the time for arguments is over.  The time for winning is over.  Now it is about honoring the man who was by dealing firmly but kindly with the man who still is.

 

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