Someone to Catch the Water
A few months ago I had a pretty major foot surgery. It wasn’t sexy and the longer I waited, the worse it would get. The timing was right — I was between jobs and the surgeon was available so I decided to go for it.
The recovery was slow: I was non-weight-bearing for six weeks. Nothing shows you just how much you should value your foot like not being able to use it for that long. After that, I was in a walking boot for another six weeks. Truth be told, even being months out of surgery today, I’m still recovering (aka, figuring out what shoes I can wear). I’m about 85% better but not perfect. I still have some pain going down stairs and walking. I just choose to keep moving and not dwell on it. I’ve been told that it may take up to a year to be fully recovered.
This article is not about my surgery.
It’s about having someone who will help you through it.
I don’t love having to rely on anyone to help me with anything. I much prefer to be a do-it-yourself kind of gal. This surgery was a big one and I knew that I would need to rely on my wife to help me with even the most basic of tasks. She helped to ready the house so that the barriers would be out of my way. She also handled preparing all of the meals since I was on one floor and the kitchen was on another. Crutches proved to be dangerous for me so if I needed to use the stairs, I crawled and she carried my knee scooter for me.
She helped me change bandages, keep track of my medication and assisted me with getting ready in the morning and at night. When I on-boarded at my new job, she used her IT degree and got my work station set up so that I could either work from bed or sit at my desk.
All she asked is that I do my best to not be an asshole patient (my words, not hers) and listen to her (she’s a nurse).
It’s awesome to have a partner like this. I know how lucky I am.
I had foot surgery (on the other foot) about 10 years ago and things were really different. I don’t need to share details here. What I remember most from that surgery was that I lived in a four-story townhouse and was in the master bedroom on the top floor. The kitchen was two floors down and I REALLY wanted a Christmas cookie. No one was around to help me so I bumped down the stairs and crawled into the kitchen to get one. Then I managed to get back up the stairs somehow. Very different situations.
What really mattered to me — and brings me to tears when I think about it — is how she helped me in the shower. Showers are sacred time to me. It was no easy task to maneuver on one foot to the chair in the shower. Getting in after it was warmed up was NOT an option — too dangerous. Every time I wanted a shower she got me situated and seated comfortably. She then turned on the water and held a bucket up to catch all the cold water before it hit me. Once she determined that it was sufficiently warm, she’d move the bucket, dump the cold water down the drain, and let me have my flash dance moment when the warm water hit me.
That is love to me.
The seemingly simple act of catching the cold water meant more to me than any other ways she helped me. It’s just water, right? If the cold water hit me, I could just pretend like I was back at summer camp in the freezing morning showers. No big deal.
But she didn’t let me suffer like that. She knew what it meant to me to have the warm water cascading over me. She knows what it means for me to have that valuable time where I can relax and do my best thinking.
We should all be so lucky to have someone to catch the cold water for us.
