I'm A Boomer Who Learned The Hard Way Why You Should Never Text Your Adult Kids Bad News
shurkin_son | ShutterstockRecently, I made the mistake of texting my adult kids some troubling medical news. I should have called, but the assisted living facility where I was staying temporarily got there first. My son, Matt, my medical contact, received a call, as per protocol, stating that I was on my way to the hospital but not in a critical state.
My breezy text soon followed, referencing my broken left leg. The cheeky close in all caps is cringeworthy.
"Long story short. I’ve wound up at the hospital with concerns about blood clots in the left leg. Being treated aggressively and will be here day or so (?) to get that under control …. Anyway, ALL GOOD."
In what universe would this news be “all good?” In truth, the blood clots had traveled to my lungs. (Pro tip: Don’t Google “pulmonary embolism” from a gurney in the ER.) I didn’t want to bother or concern them. I was pretty scared, but my rationale was not to pass along my fear and worry about the traveling clots.
I didn’t even acknowledge them. I was in the right place and receiving good care — they were 500 miles, or further, away. As the crisis receded, our phone calls assured them that all was truly okay.
I'm a Boomer who learned the hard way that a text is a cold delivery system to your adult kids
Katie Franklin / Unsplash
Texting sensitive information removes nuance and leaves out important context
If there is literally no other option, texting is better than nothing. But there was another option. I could have called and would have reached one of them. Matt didn’t need to hear it from an officious admin.
My text implied an urgency that was undermined by the “in other news” tone. Which was it? Pick up the phone and call. The text denied my sons the comfort of hearing my voice as reassurance that things were under control, if not quite all good.
Is that how I treat the people I am closest to? People I love, unconditionally? Thoughtless is one way to describe my actions. Where was my self-compassion? Hearing their voices at a time when I was scared would have been comforting. I sat at the intersection of stoic and stupid.
Later, I offered the lame excuse that I didn’t want to unnecessarily concern them. There was nothing they could do, and I was well cared for. But a call would have calmed their anxiety as well as my own.
Go on. I know what you’re thinking: My God, this woman was inconsiderate to her kids. Undeniably true. If the road to the abyss is paved with good intentions, I was rolling down the superhighway. It’s a cautionary tale. Of course, we want to protect our kids. Shield them from the troubling news we’ve got “covered.” But what does that mean?
Hoarding critical information is not protecting our adult kids. It’s denying them full agency as adults to help us, even if it’s nothing more than the comforting sound of their voices when we’re in Scarytown. Texting this news was a bad judgment call on my part.
The upshot of learning how to text medical news to my adult kids the right way
Kateryna Hliznitsova / Unsplash+
By texting my sons rather than calling, it made it seem like I did not respect them. I treated them as juveniles as I glossed over the messy parts of life. I failed to realize the nonchalant tone was a smoke screen, and they saw right through it. Of course they did. They are full-on adults, in their mid-40s.
I was the empress without clothes. My decision to text-not-call would have been cold comfort had things gone south. They might have understood my calculus, alongside the hurt, betrayal, and, yes, anger of not hearing the news from me.
They were relieved I was okay and out of the hospital in two days. Their graciousness at my misstep was more than I deserved. Later, they told me, in no uncertain terms, that it is their role to worry, and to that end, they must be informed of everything. I saw the parent script had flipped.
It was time to put away my cloak of invincibility. It was only a costume, anyway. Besides, at 76, it no longer fits me. Another lesson in coming to grips with aging. With deep gratitude, I'm soldiering on, wiser and way more humble.
Jane Trombley is a writer, editor, and podcaster. Her work has been featured in the Medium publication and podcast, Crow's Feet: Life As We Age, and in her Substack newsletter, Living in The 4th Quarter.
