I spoke up for my mother in hospital. Now I’d like a champion for me
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https://www.straitstimes.com/opinion/i-spoke-up-for-my-mother-in-hospital-now-id-like-a-champion-for-me
2026-02-22
By--- Lim Ai Leen was formerly associate foreign editor at The Straits Times.
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A couple of months ago, my 87-year-old mother fell and fractured her hip.
Being rendered immobile came as a shock to her, a fiercely independent Hakka woman who had always prided herself on being able to stand on her own two feet, literally and figuratively.
Her subsequent hospitalisation was also a shock to my system, as I found myself thrust into the roles of nurse, bodyguard, researcher, coach and banker. And I realised with growing alarm that I was a childless, ageing adult who may not have someone to play those roles for me when I’m the one lying drugged and helpless in a ward.
At this point, you might think I’m a self-centred, narcissistic daughter for making my mum’s ailment about me. But this article is not just about me. It’s about what we can all learn from her ordeal.
My mother had been living alone in Kuala Lumpur for the last few years, sustained by Grab deliveries, helpful friends and relatives, and a cleaner who popped by three times a week. My brother and I would call regularly, and visit a few times a year; in his case, spending weeks at a time working his London job from her house.
This was how she wanted to live, she told us. She didn’t want anyone to cramp her style, be it a live-in helper, my husband in Singapore or other seniors in a retirement community. In hindsight, perhaps we should have overridden her on this, but that’s another story.
Thankfully, I was at her house when she fell. The ensuing days were an exhausting, emotional whirlwind of doctors, tests, and medical information overload.
A cascade of complications
I learnt that falls often spark a downward spiral for the elderly because of complications from being unable to get up from their beds – they become sitting ducks for chest infections, muscle atrophy and blood clots. I discovered that the speech therapist was there to rate not my mum’s elocution but her ability to swallow food properly and prevent aspiration pneumonia – caused by inhaling food into the lungs.
But the one lesson that stuck with me was the importance of having someone there to fight your corner. What do I mean by that?
It means having someone who can fend off a well-intentioned but overzealous geriatrician, who wanted to sedate and force-feed my mother via a tube through her nose. She was eating fine on her own, but too little and too slowly for a doctor intent on bulking her up in time for surgery a week later. Even sumo wrestlers would struggle with that deadline.
It means saying no to the pricey daily rental of a warming blanket inflated by a machine pumping hot air. “Turn off the air-con, bring us another fleece blanket,” I told the nurse. My mum was toasty in minutes.
It could also mean saying yes. We agreed when the anaesthesiologist suggested a spinal block plus sedative for her hip operation, to minimise the risk of my mum not waking up from general anaesthesia. After surgery, my still oblivious mother asked the surgeon: “So when are you going to start? I’ve been here a long time already.”
After I regaled a fellow childless friend with these encounters, she asked: “Who’s going to make those decisions for us when we’re lying there? And how do we make sure they choose what we’d prefer?”
Our immediate thought was each other, or family and friends of similar age and tastes. But that idea was promptly ditched. What’s the point of having an advocate who may be just as frail and confused as us? Not to mention equally toothless, both figuratively and literally?
A tall order
In 30 years, we’ll need someone who runs a crew of AI agents and can restart the robot. Not call us a Grab or “PayLah” the pharmacy.
So, it has to be someone youngish and feisty. Preferably someone with some medical background who prioritises patient comfort and dignity. Plus is a foodie who knows what will get our gastric juices going when we need to fatten up for the scalpel or reach the pleasure-feeding stage in our end days. Who can double up as a gatekeeper during visiting hours. And be a coach who knows when to push us and when to take the smallest win. Not to mention a financial controller familiar with what we’re happy to splurge on – single ward, Ben & Jerry’s, Netflix and The New Yorker subscriptions, and nice soap.
These are a lot to ask of any one person. Let alone someone who is not obliged to act for you. And it’ll be hard to find one person who ticks all the boxes.
One friend has a cherished nephew in mind to handle her affairs when she’s incapacitated. He’s smart, honest, responsible and caring. But she doubts he can bring himself to switch off the lights for good. “I don’t think he’ll be able to let me go,” she said. “If I’m on life support or in a coma, I don’t really want to hang around.”
It turns out that the Government is way ahead of us on this. In 2020, it set up the My Legacy portal to guide people with end-of-life planning.
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Additional Note (1)
*My Legacy@LifeSG* portal (a Singapore Government website)
My Legacy helps you to explore, store and share your end-of-life plans. Protect what matters to you
https://mylegacy.life.gov.sg/
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Additional Note (2)
*Who decides when you can’t? A guide on planning for end-of-life care*
https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/health/who-decides-when-you-cant-a-guide-on-planning-for-end-of-life-care
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Not only can you execute a lasting power of attorney, and specify medical care preferences in advance, but you can also enlist a professional deputy to carry out your wishes if you don’t land on a suitable nephew or niece.
I’m not sure a stranger will entertain my requests for premium ice-cream and toiletries, even if I put them in writing. But at the very least, I can be assured they will sign off on my DNR (do not resuscitate) and DNI (do not intubate) orders. These were the same instructions I gave on my mother’s behalf when she caught another chest infection after her successful hip surgery.
Despite everyone’s best efforts, my mother succumbed to pneumonia three weeks later. In our grief, I’m comforted knowing that we channelled her wishes, right to the end.
Lim Ai Leen was formerly associate foreign editor at The Straits Times.
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