Not for the Faint of Heart: Sam’s Saga

My dear father-in-law, age 98, broke his hip last March driving out to take advantage of good gas prices.  Not worth that!  Because his wife, just a few years younger, is not strong enough to help him get around, recovery had to be done in a nursing home.  After three long months, some in isolation because of covid concerns, he made it back to their independent-living-facility home, with bi-weekly help coming in, for summer and fall.  But early in November, his hip gave way while he and she were simply walking down the hall together, and he fell and broke the other side.  Old age is not for the faint of heart.  So it was back to the hospital for repair and then back to the convalescence center for therapy and recovery again.  

Dad W didn’t take well to nursing home policy and he fell a couple more times trying to get to the bathroom without the required call for help.  “Tsk, tsk.  Just do what you’re told, Sam!  The staff is only trying to keep you safe.”  This was my attitude before my own two-day jaunt in the hospital.  Since then I’m feeling more sympathetic.  It feels wrong to call busy people from important work just for an escort to the potty when one is fairly certain he/she could do it independently.  Probably.  Each time I pushed that buzzer apologetically.  “I’m sorry.  But I’ve gotta pee.”  Although there was no shaming or impatience from caregivers, it sill felt bothersome.  Sadly, my father-in-law overestimated his capabilities to his own harm, but I sympathize with the motive.

We prayed that Sam could be home for Christmas, but, alas, covid isolation had put a strain on the home-health-care system, and no in-home aid was available, so he hasn’t made it yet.  Hopes are that they can get someone signed up soon.

In the meantime, I feel fortunate to have my caregiver, but that’s another entry.😄

Wake up, Thigh!

 Just back from physical therapy and I’m thinking about my thigh.  It was bone that broke, but this muscle seems to be having the most struggle to take on actual work again—like lifting my leg for example. 🙄

When therapists arrived the morning after surgery, they said to put my right foot out and gently rest on the heel* as I started forward with the walker.  Couldn't do it.  Right Leg refused to move although Brain was sending the signal. Come on, Leg!  But nope.  No perceivable response.  Hmm.  This could be a problem.

When seated, I could easily rotate that foot, even swing it up off the floor from the knee.  Ok, that's good.  But to lift the knee itself required the assistance of both hands.

So I improvised by leaning forward on the walker so that the leg would follow along underneath.  Not the best form, but it worked.

The most difficult PT assignment once home has been to stand with hands flat on countertop and try to raise that right leg, like marching.  A week ago, I couldn't really get it off the floor, although I was able to pull a little of the weight off the resting foot.  It took concentration.  And hard effort.  And it hurt! 

But I've kept after it because that particular body part really does need to wake up to being useful again.  Slowly, slowly improvement has come.  Today I can get that foot off the floor maybe four inches and hold it there for a few counts.  Small victory!

 *50% weight allowed on the injured leg.

Prayer Effects!

Thank you for the prayers.  Last night was the best night yet!  Although the moving was still slow and awkward, I slept reasonably well—even on my back for a while.  (See Jan 12 entry.)  I only got up once and didn't resort to night reading.  Praise God!  May this continue.

Do I take anything to sleep, you may wonder.  Normally, no, unless I have had two nights of insomnia in a row or unless the following day involves something that has my mind highly activated.  In those cases, 3mg melatonin.

The first four nights after surgery I took Norco, the recommended pain med, an hour before bedtime, plus 6 mg of melatonin.  Then I dropped the Norco.  Two nights ago I forgot the melatonin and felt the night went about as well as when I took it--meh.  The winning formula last night was 3mg melatonin two hours out.  I will plan to continue that through Monday when I see the ortho doc again and have staples removed from the two incisions.  Looking forward to that day.  😊

Thank you OSF hospital staff

From the moment we arrived at the ER, I felt well-cared for despite the trauma of the situation which had me trembling like a leaf for the first hours.  We've heard how much stress the medical system is under, and I don't doubt it.  But those I encountered during my 53-hour stay were attentive and supportive nonetheless.  Here are a few memorable examples of the many masked heroes I met. 

Logan was primary nurse in the ER.  Reassuring and helpful, he did not insist on cutting clothing to get me changed into the sanctioned hospital garb, and besides attaching various diagnostic devices, he administered the deep-nose covid test so gently I hardly noticed.  Tom happily wheeled me to X-ray where every effort was made to make the move from bed to table without causing undue pain.  Kudos to the X-ray team!  Up in the room my most upbeat and wonderful nurse for two days was Stephanie.  I never saw this amazing woman look impatient or overstressed.  Night nurse Alisha was also unfailingly available and cheery.  I so appreciated these two.

Dr. Kohlmann did careful surgery and made himself available for questions.  His nurse practitioner Glenett gets an A+ for her presence and care.  Chris helped as he could.  Capable anesthesiology assistant Mai was kind enough to massage my shoulders during the procedure.    

I was happy to have early visits from physical and occupational therapists, Tina, Jesse, Destinee, and Jessica.  Having their input on how to move my achy self before I went home was important.

RN Lisa convinced me that the importance of sleep mitigated any concern about pain meds for the first few days post-op.  And case worker Vicki made herself available for figuring out what I might need at home.

Many more competent essential workers we met.  God bless them all!

The Hardest Part

 

I’m home now, comfortably settled into a little nest in our sitting room with laptop and important things around me.  People have showered us with prayers and sustenance.  (Thank you and God bless you every one!)  I'm getting around on the walker reasonably well.  No more pain meds.  And my True Love is here.  So what's the hardest thing?  Being in bed at night.  Trying to get comfortable.  Ugg.  

First, here is the process of getting into bed.  Back up to the edge with the walker and sit down.  Lift knee of undamaged leg up onto the mattress.  Use hands to lift other knee up beside it.  Roll back onto both elbows, then lift to hands.  Use left leg and hands to lift backside and turn so that body is the right direction.  Two separate efforts of lifting and turning do this.  (Elementary PE teacher called this a crab walk.)  Lower, put little pillow between knees and lie back.  Slowly, keeping knees together, roll to left side.  Then make further adjustments to get settled in.  None of this has really hurt, by the way, it's just slow and awkward and a little scary—because of course it could hurt if I get reckless!

This position is great for a while, longer if I go right to sleep.  If not, I'll be feeling a need to move in a while and without my right side to turn to, options are not ideal.  I can go to my back and be comfortable, but less likely to sleep.  I can go to my stomach and be comfortable except for my head, and worn out from the effort of getting there.  It's also more challenging from stomach to get rolled back to my side and start over.  So, as you can see necessary nighttime movements have become a chore.  Sigh. 

Still I’m very thankful not to be in pain.  I can always turn on the light and read a while or take a little walk.  I've really come to appreciate the human body's need to keep moving.  It's what distinguishes us from vegetables, right?  This reminds me of an incident Steve and I still remember from many many years ago at our Baptist Church in downtown Indy.  We had to work hard to stay serious when a parishioner requested prayer for her cousin who was the kind of guy "who would not be happy as a vegetable."  :-]

My Fall

I've been in denial about my risk for years.  But, last Tuesday at 8 a.m. it caught up with me.  About halfway through my usual walk, a patch of ice threw me off and—swish, boom—sent me to the ground, falling hard on my right hip bone.  Lying there, I realized those low bone density numbers could not be denied any more.

Of course, I slowly tried to get up, but flashes of pain quickly ruled that out.  If I didn't move, it didn't hurt.  So, I didn't move!  I wasn't really cold in my big coat and weighted vest as I fished for my phone and called Steve.  Then came twenty minutes of praying and admiring the surrounding grass and goose poop until he got to me.  A helpful guy named Jeff came by walking his dog.  Together he and Steve carried me to the car as gently as they could.  But, Ouch! 

ER.  X-ray.  Yep, fractured femur.  IV.  Admission to OSF hospital.  Two-and-a-half-hour surgery ended around 8 p.m.  I wish I could say the twelve hours of that day zoomed by in a blur, but alas, that would not be accurate.

There followed a long night connected to the IV and various monitors, and interrupted eight times by either machine malfunction or staff.  The good part of that was I never had to signal for someone to come with the bedpan.  Someone was likely already there!

More to come.  :-]

Reincarnated?

The Gospel of Trees by Apricot Irving tells the story of a missionary kid in Haiti.  Aside from the issue of missionary effectiveness, the book highlights the stunning disparity between worlds.  This mission-minded family with precious little personal resources had been in the country a while when they seriously considered adopting a struggling Haitian infant brought to the American Baptist hospital.  The family ultimately decided it unwise to attempt it; the tiny girl had a living parent and family.  Thus that child's life, unlike the author's, remained grim over the years.  "The world's deep inequity was a wound that never healed."  "No matter what path we could have taken, we would have failed her:  love's inevitable sorrow" (306).

I, like Apricot, have all I need and more--so too my family, neighbors, friends, and a majority of fellow Americans generally speaking.  In fact, with so many ways of making our lives easy and with such an abundant food supply we make ourselves sick.

           
Sometimes when I think about this, a strange thought comes to mind:  Could I have been reincarnated?   Seriously.  

I know that, as a Christian, it's anathema to set this idea out there.  It is appointed unto man once to die, after all, and after that the judgement:  Hebrews 9:27.  

"Everyone has to die once, then face the consequences.  Christ's death was also a one-time event . . . ."  The Message 

That's pretty clear.  When glaring inequities present themselves though, my wondering returns.  It comes not from any thought that I earned an upgrade in another life, but rather from a sense that there should be, there must be, some fairness, some justice.  (See CS Lewis's Mere Christianity.) 

So here's what I imagine.  Let's say I was born a malnourished child in Haiti.  Or perhaps born at the bottom of the hierarchy in a caste-based society.  I could have been born to a Syrian family uprooted by horrific civil war, born female in Afghanistan, born with dark skin to a cocaine mom in Los Angels.  How about born a Jew in Germany a hundred years ago?  Born with a clef palate in Switzerland or born to a Tiger Mom in a Hong Kong high rise.  I could have been born ugly and stupid to an abusive family or I could have been born, God forbid, to a rich and arrogant man like our current president. 

Let's say, in that situation, I have the presence of mind to cry out to God.  Maybe I look at the more fortunate people in the world--in whatever respect more fortunate--and ask, "How can they carry on with their relatively unburdened lives when I live in misery?  Where is my cup of water?"
 

And God says, "Ok.  Let's see if you do any better as one of the fortunate ones."

Boom!  

I am re-birthed to humble, healthy, stable, loving parents with hearts for God who, although not well-to-do themselves, live in the heartland of America the Beautiful.  And then I have the further good fortune to get an education, to marry a wonderful man, to raise a beautiful family with him and . .. .

But wait.  What's that other voice crying out?

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.

Do justly, now.

Love mercy, now.

Walk humbly, now.

You are not obligated to complete the work,

But neither are your free to abandon it.        

                                                     Talmud, Mishnah, Avot 2:21