Florence Nightingale.....Not

In another life, I am a very patient gracious thoughtful care-giver. Sadly for Jeff, it's not this life.

In case you haven't heard, Jeff came home about 10 days ago (after a long day of drinking with his work buddies, hereafter referred to as the Pernicious Influences) (I may have to get t-shirts for them) limping. Well, more specifically, hopping on one leg. Seems he’d taken a tumble down a few steps at the bar (and by “few” I mean…3) and now could not put any weight on his left leg. None. Every time he tried, his knee collapsed.

He got…a little sympathy from me. (He would have gotten more if it hadn’t occurred after 8 or 9 hours of drinking.) I put ice on it, got him an Ibuprofen, wrapped his knee in an ace bandage, put him to bed. (Do we all recognize our RICE from our first aid?)

Still non-functional the next day. Took him to a 24-hour travel clinic (after running hither and yon around downtown Brisbane for a pair of crutches). Doc said “hmmm, yes, you appear to have injured some ligaments in your knee. Stay off it and come back in 3 days.”

Came back in 3 days. Now his knee has flowered into a large area of spectacular bruising and he still can put zero weight on that leg. Doc is concerned and sends Jeff for an MRI and tells him to return the next day to see what the MRI shows.

The MRI shows that 2 of the 4 ligaments that hold your knee together are completely torn and a 3rd ligament is half torn. Plus there’s hairline fractures on the back side of the tibia (the big bone in your lower leg). The doc is very impressed! Suggests that we call an orthopedist first thing the next morning to get an appointment.

The problem? It’s now 2 days before Christmas and everything is shutting down like they’ve heard that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are planning to spend their Christmas vacation in Brisbane. But I explain to one receptionist the extent of Jeff’s injuries and she asks me to fax the MRI report. I do and several hours later she phones to say that the doc can squeeze Jeff in on Friday (Christmas Eve) morning out at their far suburban office.

We are there. He examines Jeff and is also deeply impressed by the extent of his injuries. He also suggests, much to our surprise, that most of these injuries may be old injuries. Yep, that they occurred when Jeff was much younger. After some conversation, Jeff remembers one or two skiing accidents in his early 20s that did a job on his knees. But, being young, he was able to limp his way through them.

We are skeptical that they are all old because how they heck has he been walking for the last 20 years?? Nonetheless, the doc says he can’t really do a proper assessment till more of the swelling goes down and the hairline fractures heal up a bit. Stay off the leg and come back in 2 weeks.

“Staying off the leg” is easy. It still won’t hold any weight. Jeff is 100% dependent on the crutches. Which means yours truly is now the hands and legs for both of us. I am doing all of the:

• Cooking


• Grocery shopping


• Driving


• Dishwashing


• Fetching


• Carrying


• Toting


• Running back and forth for things


• Picking things up


• Packing for vacation


• Loading the car for vacation


• Opening doors


• Closing doors


• Occasionally tying his left shoe


• Running errands for him (beer, for example)


• Attending all his doctor appointments with him

Thank heavens our shower is large and a walk-in. He can take his crutches in with him.

For the first couple of days I was OK with this. It really wasn't his fault. Beer-saturation notwithstanding, he fell. Things tore. It happens.

But now I am.....bitchy, impatient, cranky, sad, angry, depressed, short-tempered, and a tad weepy. I find that I am extremely uncomfortable in the role of spousal caretaker. Frankly, it freaks me out.

The world I grew up in did not respect wifely care-taking. Wives, and their care-taking, were taken for granted and deeply discounted. It was completely expected that wives would take care of husbands and children and parents and in-laws and neighbors and the church and, well, everyone. And they would do it out of "love".

But they would not be taken care of in return by husbands or children or parents or in-laws or the church, etc. That's just not how it worked. Care-taking was their job and their duty and their very reason for existence. Just do it.

Oh yes, we all made good noises about appreciating all they did, generally once a year on Mothers Day. And at their funerals. But I never really saw a husband step up to take care of his wife like I saw wives taking care of husbands. I had never seen it be any different for any married woman I knew. Consequently, marriage looked and felt like a trap to me. Like a life sentence to hard labor.

I made some painful and difficult decision early in my life, including rejecting a very true and earnest marriage proposal that everyone wanted me to accept, to avoid this fate. In fact, in rejecting the marriage proposal, I specifically said "I can't take care of me and you and right now I need to take care of me." It honestly never occurred to me that care-taking could be mutual.

I was a few months shy of 40 when when I got married. It took me that long to figure out how to be in a relationship that was mutual and to find someone I could create that with. Jeff is that kinda guy and I like being married to him. He deserves all the care and love I give him.

But I can't seem to shake all those lessons observed and learned in my early life. Years of therapy and a damned good relationship don't erase that conditioning. It still lives, apparently in my brainstem, right next to the instructions for breathing and blinking.

While Jeff is a wonderful husband, he is still a guy. And like a lot of guys in my experience, he can settle into the status quo quickly and easily, especially if the status quo is particularly quick and easy for him.

Guys are, on the whole, opportunists. I don't mean that as an indictment, only an observation. They are much better than the average woman at accepting a good deal when it comes their way and enjoying it.

So, yeah, I wonder if Jeff isn't taking maybe just a tiny little wee bit advantage of the situation. He is, after all, a guy.

I am also, no suprise to anyone who's met us, the more dominant partner in our relationship. Yes, I am the Alpha Bitch to friends and enemies alike. So, yes, it's also possible that he's even more willing than the average to just let me make the decisions and the plans and take responsibility for what needs to be done.

And, yes, his leg is still completely non-functional. Completely. And he's been on crutches for 10 days and it sucks and he's likely to still be on crutches in a month, which sucks even more. So maybe, in a teeny tiny pique of self-pity, he's a little extra willing to let me do things for him. Maybe.

I don't actually blame him for that. But I am losing my frickin' mind here, not to mention my temper, my cool, my equilibrium, and my sunny good nature (yeah, I've got one of those sometimes too). It's not fair to Jeff but whaddya gonna do?

Full-time care-taking is a shitload of work. It's draining. It's tiresome. Even with heaps of love behind it. And I' m doing it for a competent adult.

I think of my friend Peggy, whose father had a stroke when she was in high school and was wheelchair- and bed-bound for the rest of his life, 15+ years. Peggy's mom took care of her dad and, to hear Peggy talk, never complained, rarely flagged, and loved him to the end.

I think of my many friends home with toddlers all day. Oy vey.

I think of my friend Judi, whose elderly father has Alzheimers. Her stepmother is doing everything in her power to keep him at home as long as she can and she's no spring chicken herself.

How do they do it? I doubt that any of them are gracious, kind, gentle, loving, patient etc. etc. etc. 24/7. It's not humanly possible. Even deep love doesn't make that possible 24/7.

And I do love Jeff. Deeply, profoundly, and with great gratitude for his love. I feel his vulnerability in my own bones and it makes me edgy and unhappy. I get furious with people who don't give him the space and consideration in public that he needs. I seriously considered picking one kid up by the back of his t-shirt and flinging him into a wall this week (but I didn't, you'll be pleased to know) because he almost knocked Jeff over (and I don't think Jeff even noticed it).

But I'm still bitchy and impatient and irritable and snarky and snippy and mean and grumpy as hell. I suspect sainthood is still a very very long way away for me.