Tuesday, July 11, 2023

  Tuesday, July 11, 2023

   

          It will be a month since I fell and shattered two joints. I spent two weeks in the hospital and had two major surgeries.  I still require 24-hour care. I’m doing well medically; I’m just helpless like a baby. 

          When I first came home, I needed an aide by my side whenever I was on the move. I couldn’t go to the bathroom by myself.  I was woozy and in danger of falling-an absolute no-no. My head was just beginning to clear. I counted seven threats to my mental clarity: the trauma of the fall, the two surgeries, the five-hour elbow reconstruction, and the three-hour shoulder replacement ( The doctor split the surgeries because of the danger of having someone my age under for that long), the eight hours of anesthesia, the weeks on pain killers and blood loss.

    I came in with a blood count of 13.5. At one point, my blood count was 7.0. As I understand it, that means I lost almost half my blood. I had someone tell me my daily blood count. Most was lost before the first surgery, which means I bleed internally from the accident. They wouldn’t release me from the hospital until it got up to a certain amount. A doctor friend of mine recommended I ask for a transfusion. I did. That boosted it a bit.

   I understand it will take at least two months before I mentally recover from the eight hours of anesthesia, the three weeks on Percocet, and two weeks of almost immobility, rarely making it to the bathroom and not doing much better my first week home. I’ve been doing little more than binging on old TV series. I have a lot to recover from. I remain helpless for at least another week, requiring 24-hour care. I have been remarkably fortunate.

     I’m home for several reasons. I couldn’t be released from the hospital unless I was assured appropriate care. All the rehab facilities on the island covered by Kaiser, my insurance company, were full. One had a vacancy for a male. I was game; they were not.

    The middle-aged man who had lived in my house for a year had stepped up to the plate and done a brilliant job. I doubt better care would be possible. I went home under his care. Understandably, he burned out, and I went to plan B. I found the name of a residential facility with a vacancy not covered by my insurance. My friend Judy assumed the responsibility of finding in-home care. I contacted five friends in the neighborhood, friends to pinch-hit. They all stepped up to the plate.

       I am seen as a generous person. I give selfishly because bringing relief or pleasure to people brings me joy. I don’t expect reciprocity, gratitude, or praise. I consider it an honor and privilege to play that role in someone’s life. I often thank my students for working with me. I dig deep into their minds and emotions related to the learning issue. Students give me their trust.

   That reminds me of one of my most gratifying stories. Before Mike died, I volunteered in a third-grade class at a local public school. For the most part, I worked with the lowest functioning students assigned to work with me by the teacher. There were days when those kids were absent, and the teacher would ask me to help a student with a less serious problem. I worked with one boy on his writing for two days. He made immediate progress.      

      The teacher told another student to work with me a few days later. As he walked toward me, the first boy called out, “She’s okay. You can trust her.” I can’t think of a greater compliment. I truly consider it an honor for someone to trust me when they’re vulnerable. It feels like flowers blooming in my chest. I expect others to give in that spirit and make that joy their primary motivation.  

     Giving out of duty, obligation, and sacrifice without regard for our own boundaries is always part of long-term giving. What parent feels nothing but joy caring for a cranky newborn. Believe me, it wasn’t all joy to sit by Mike’s side for the five weeks he was in the hospital. I dreaded his recovery. I knew he wouldn’t be his old self, and he would hate himself for his condition. That self-hatred would have made my life unbearable, but there is no way I wouldn’t have done what I had to: duty, obligation, and sacrifice-not much joy. Yes, sometimes we can enjoy the luxury of joy. 

     I discovered there are people for whom duty, obligation, and sacrifice are the starting point. They expect you to appreciate them. Yuck. My vision of hell is being cared for by such a fundamentally joyless person. Sounds very grim.

  The other important quality I need from people is respect for their boundaries.  That’s not always easy, particularly in a crisis. I tried to take care of myself when in Honolulu for five weeks, but it was tough; I knew I was overextended.

    I had a weird experience today. Jana called to ask my advice on helping two of her students with their reading problems. I managed to reel out suggestions at a good clip, and I sounded good. However, my prefrontal lobes were still on lag, and I felt I was watching my unconscious mind bypass my conscious.

     A relative through marriage demonstrates a similar mental phenom. He has been diagnosed with dementia. He can no longer drive; he repeats the same story, asks the same questions, and can’t retain the answers. However, he can still operate a complex computer program with something to do with refining oil. He is one of a handful of people familiar with the program.  Despite his short-term memory problems, he can still do this complex job. He is currently training others to take his place. He has spent so much time with the program that he can bypass his failing working memory. Amazing.