Laura* had two choices as the Covid-19 pandemic wore on: let her mother die of depression alone in Venezuela or bring her to the United States by any means necessary. Before the pandemic, Laura’s entire family had emigrated, like millions of Venezuelans. But they left behind 68-year-old Sofía* in Ciudad Guayana, an industrial city in decline.
(*Laura’s and Sofia’s names have been changed for privacy)
“Everyone was calling me telling me they saw my mom depressed. And of course, it made sense: My mom was literally alone,” Laura recounts from Georgia. One day, while talking with a coworker, a friend offered her a solution: Bring her mom along with another group across the southern border.
Not everyone in the family agreed. It seemed too risky for a 68-year-old woman, but Sofía was determined. “I told her, ‘Mom, you’re going to travel to Colombia, then to Mexico, and then cross the border. Are you willing to do that?’”
“Yes, daughter. I can’t stand being here anymore,” Laura recalls her mother saying.
If Sofía was willing, they had their answer, Laura resolved.
Against almost everyone’s advice, Laura took the risk. She reasoned that if something happened to her mom in Venezuela, neither she nor anyone else could go to her aid.
At that moment, Laura was still awaiting a response to her own asylum application. Without a firm decision, she couldn’t leave the U.S., much less return to Venezuela. “It was a very, very difficult situation for me. The anxiety I experienced those days is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” she says.
Laura wasn’t new to risks. As an industrial engineer, she worked for 20 years in companies related to iron processing in Venezuela. After the downfall of Venezuelan state-owned companies, Laura and her then-husband, also an engineer, decided to open a coffee shop in their southern city. The business was doing well but against the current.
In Venezuela, everything from sugar to toilet paper was scarce. So, in 2017, Laura traveled with her son to the U.S. for a season and then decided to divorce and emigrate. Her two siblings also left Venezuela. One settled in Austria, and the younger followed Laura to the U.S. Scattered across different countries and cities, the siblings left their mother as the only one remaining in Venezuela.
In November 2021, U.S. border patrol agents detained Sofía after she crossed the border in Tucson. They released her a few days later with a court date set in two years. In Georgia, her family celebrated Sofía’s reunion. They thought the worst was over.
Then, in March 2022, Sofía told Laura on their way home from work that she felt ill. “I didn’t know why. I mean, my mom never told me she had absolutely anything. She was fine,” Laura says. Upon arriving home, Sofía developed a fever and then fainted.
Laura took Sofía to a hospital near Atlanta, making it clear to the doctors that her mother had no health insurance and was undocumented.
“In my ignorance, I thought they would send a treatment home because she had no health insurance, nor did we have money. But at the hospital, they explained that I could go to jail if something happened because they were not denying her medical care,” Laura says.
That day, what started as a urinary infection ended with a diagnosis of breast cancer with metastasis in the lung and hip. Sofa’s and Laura’s lives changed — quickly.
Laura adjusted her work schedule to double shifts. She drove hundreds of miles daily, bought a camera to monitor Sofía, and left meals prepared for the whole week. She accompanied Sofía to chemotherapy sessions of more than four hours, unable to leave her alone because her mother didn’t speak English.
Laura also took Sofía to work, bought diapers, arranged daily medications with an alarm, and more. Within a year and a half, by November 2023, Sofía could hardly see or stand.
After changing her entire routine to care for her mom, Laura’s life also deteriorated. She stressed about how to resolve the financial situation, lost her appetite, and began to feel sad and isolated.
“I thought it was my responsibility to pay for everything because she was my mom,” Laura says. However, she worked with the hospital on an agreement, which considered her mother’s age and legal status.
Still, the pressure mounted, especially from organizations outside the hospital seeking money.
“They started calling me, harassing me, saying they were going to put my mom in jail, and other threats over medical debts,” Laura says. “I replied that my mom had financial assistance, which was true.”
But Laura needed to understand that the financial assistance was only for hospital expenses, not medical exams done outside the hospital. Those expenses jumped to more than $300,000.
After meeting with lawyers and officials, Laura was able to extend the financial assistance to all those extra expenses. “I didn’t understand the system,” she says.
About 53 million Americans are caregivers for a family member or friend with a health problem or disability, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Nearly a third spend 20 or more hours a week in that role, and 58% of caregivers are women.
“My social life since my mom arrived has been zero. I fell into a state of anxiety and depression, which I did not know about,” Laura says. “I was so anxious and in a bad mood.” But she wanted the best for her mom.
The CDC calls caregivers the backbone of long-term home care in the United States. In particular, Latina caregivers, in addition to the risks related to the job, such as anxiety and depression, also face chronic health conditions, assignment of responsibilities based on their gender, limited access to information available in Spanish, and a cultural responsibility that creates additional pressure, according to a 2023 study from Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center.
“I was furious about everything and guilty because, despite everything, we have been blessed,” Laura says.
According to an AARP survey in 2020, 1 in 5 people in the U.S. provide informal care to an adult. Due to low socioeconomic status, lack of access to medical care, and cultural reasons, Hispanics tend to opt for informal care. However, experts say many caregivers struggle to discuss their frustration and anger openly.
In November 2023, Laura saw a doctor; her life felt unsustainable. Since then, she has taken anxiolytics and antidepressants. “My mom has always been difficult, but she is my mom. I couldn’t let her die [alone] in Venezuela. I thank God for giving me the opportunity for her to come at the right time and look at everything that happened.”
In November 2023, as scheduled, Laura took her mother in a wheelchair to her immigration hearing in Austin, Texas — two years since Sofia crossed the border. Sofía could hardly see and had difficulty performing the simplest tasks. She could not fend for herself.
In court, Laura described the entire two-year ordeal: her mother’s condition, the sleepless nights, and the humanitarian situation in Venezuela. Laura cried; so did the judge. The court decided that Sofía should not be deported from the U.S. She was acquitted of all charges.
Two months later, Sofía died at her home in Georgia from respiratory failure. Laura was by her side.
Laura still takes anxiolytics and antidepressants to cope with mourning. She has tried to recover her life after two intense years of taking care of her mother.
The president and CEO of the National Alliance for Caregiving, Jason Resendez, maintains that it is essential to attend to Latina caregivers in a distinctive way, especially if they are in vulnerable situations, such as Laura.
“They play a vital role in the fabric of our communities,” Resendez says. “By raising awareness about the unique challenges faced by Latina caregivers, we can push for policy changes that address their specific needs. This could include expanding access to culturally competent healthcare, providing legal assistance and support for asylum seekers, and creating family-friendly workplace policies for family caregivers.”
Resendez says that advancing policies like paid family and medical leave can support Latina caregivers who disproportionately provide care while working.
“It’s not just about compassion, it’s smart economic policy. Paid leave fosters stability, boosts productivity, and keeps folks in the workforce,” Resendez says. “Without it, family caregivers will continue to make the difficult decision of staying in the workforce or providing the care their families deserve.”
Or like Laura, they’ll do both because they have no other options — taking a greater toll on personal and professional lives and health.
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