Unintentional Caregiver

There are times when my life feels as twisty and hilly to me as many roads here in my home town.  A few weeks ago, I was presented with what can only be described as a hairpin turn at max G force.

Wednesday morning, January 25, my husband and I both had morning appointments.  Mine was, like every weekday, my clerical job from 8 AM to 4:30 PM.  His was an 8:15 AM appointment with an orthopedic surgeon to get a cortisone shot in his ailing right knee.

This surgeon had already informed my husband at his prior appointment that he thought Stu too young for total knee replacement, feeling that he would be better served by waiting five or ten years.

Based on experiences that Stu and I had heard from friends, and knowing his heredity, we both felt it would actually help him stay more active in his retirement years, which started officially back in 2012. 

At around 8:45 AM that fateful Wednesday, my boss came to my desk with some bad news.  I was being laid off.  She and another manager took my office keys, provided me with a nice bin to collect my personal belongings, and gave me hugs goodbye.

When I arrived home in tears around 9:15 AM, I tried to call Stu on his cell phone.  Twice.  Left him a voicemail to call me ASAP. Then texted.  Twice.  Knowing he had had cortisone shots before, I had no reason to believe this one was going to be an all-morning quest.

It was probably 10:30 AM before he burst into our kitchen from the garage triumphantly with a packet of some sort in his hand, saying "I'm going to have both knees replaced!"

I simply said "No." 

Apparently, neither my husband nor the cosmos heard me.

At some point Stu noticed I was in tears; he then listened patiently to my story before we settled down to discuss knee replacement.

Since we had already been living on a budget that required belt-tightening to the point of near pain, losing two-thirds of our family income was not going to be easy. 

After seeing his own latest knee x-rays justifying surgery, Stu had thoroughly discussed the finances of knee replacement with the surgeon and his assistant, ignoring the cellphone buzzing in his pocket. He was confident that not only would Medicare cover the majority of both surgeries, but that his Medi-gap insurance would pick up others, or at least negotiate down our out-of-pocket costs.

Complicating the timing of his decision was the fact that said orthopedic surgeon, who had gained Stu's full trust over their several year relationship, would be forced to stop operating sometime this summer, due to insurance costs and his own age beyond 70.  Therefore he and Stu had already set the first surgery date for February 9 -- just over two weeks away.

I must admit that, for someone like myself who is able and accustomed to working a day job, the idea of having a purpose in my own life during the interminable waiting for replies that rarely come from job applications was clearly appealing. So I jumped in wholeheartedly to help prepare for his knee replacement.  

We both acknowledged that I would take over meal preparation and shopping -- something I had managed to avoid for 18 years of marriage. With that in mind, he did a lot of advance shopping and even some pre-cooking and freezing of entrees.

I was not thrilled but still committed when his surgery time got moved up to 7:30 AM, necessitating a predawn check-in that totally contradicts my own personal biorhythms.  

On Thursday, February 9, the hospital orthopedic surgery waiting room was my home base for nearly four hours of stressful waiting, which for me included reading, solitaire or Sudoku games on a tablet, and tuning out politics from the TV and its onsite audience however possible.

I was surprised when the surgeon himself came into the crowded waiting room to tell me that all had gone well and Stu was in recovery.  

After Stu survived the two nights in the hospital following surgery, the real fun began for me.  The twice-daily rushing to the hospital was now to be replaced with a genuine caregiver gig -- pay = $0. But our two dogs and I were very relieved and happy to have him come home.

At first, Stu was hobbling around with a walker we purchased inexpensively online. I was driving him to all doctor appointments, including having blood drawn twice weekly to check the anti-coagulation medication's effect, and the physical therapy appointments 3 times per week.

Doing the chauffeuring meant helping with the walker and finding either a handicapped parking spot (Stu had procured a temporary permit for the windshield of each of our cars), or doing the patient-with-walker drop and run in front of buildings, neither injuring the patient nor wrecking the car.

Add to these duties the fact that receiving Missouri Unemployment compensation requires that I continue applying for three positions each week, documenting each of those thoroughly on their website without duplication across weeks. I must also swear online (fingers crossed) that I'm always available for work, and never busy with anything else that might cause me to refuse work.

Stu is now approaching the two-week mark post surgery, and he is doing great.  In his typical over-achiever fashion, he is beating all the benchmarks at physical therapy.  He's mostly using a cane now, and occasionally the walker, but he doesn't really need either. He can descend the twelve steps to his basement office using the railing.

He is also managing to lose weight at a remarkable clip due to changes in his diet necessitated by the pain medication and its effect on his stomach.

As for me... I'm mostly just tired.  However, I too am losing weight, although at a much slower rate than he, and that's a welcome change.

There are few (if any) boring moments in my daily life.  There are more than enough household chores and errands to keep my mind and body running.  Managing his schedule demands alertness, organization, and technical know-how.

At the moment, I'm learning and implementing the balance between his needs and my own in a fast-paced home environment.  I'm interfacing with caring friends, neighbors, and relatives as they provide support. I'm running interference with two large dogs who aren't sure why they can't walk all over Daddy anymore.  

I'm actually doing it all - and doing it well.

While I wish these were resume skills I was building, I must appreciate my own soft skills and flexibility these days. Furthermore, my honey NEVER takes any of this frantic effort of mine for granted.

Overall, I must say: Very worthwhile experience.  Will gladly sign on for a second tour for his left knee this summer, assuming similar employment status and personal stamina.

Did I Care Too Much?

I've had lots of different job experiences in my life, and every time one ends, I undertake a certain amount of introspection.

This job from which I was just laid off is a great example of that.

More than once, I indicated to a coworker that I'm not one of those "don't give a #$(*& about my work" types.  No matter what my level of pay or seniority, I've never been able to just show up and do the minimum.

When I'm in a culture that runs counter to my own natural preferences - such as the recent former job - I can always feel that rub of misfit against my admittedly sensitive skin.

But it's really hard to just put everything behind you and "move on" - at least for me, no matter how many people tell me I need to do so.

There were nine other human beings there with whom I had near-daily interaction.  I wasn't allowed any goodbyes with any except the boss and her second-in-command who notified me of the layoff.  That's probably some Missouri law of employment, but still.

I had put two years, four months, and twenty-three days of my being into that place. I cared about the company and the people.

The question that's the title of this post is going to haunt me for a while.