So, with that out of the way, and with my husband's permission, I've decided to post it here on my personal web site. In a few weeks, I'll post an update as to how things are going with him. Thanks for reading!
I Want to Go to Maui Instead of Physical Therapy
by Lisa Schroeder
I
woke up this morning and thought about running away. Actually, I woke up this morning,
checked my phone, and thought about running away. A text sent from my husband,
Scott, after I’d gone to bed read, “Healing waters at 10:30 and physical
therapy at 3:00. Too much?”
I
knew he was asking if it was too much for him, not for me. But I thought yes,
it’s too much and I don’t want to do this anymore. I think I’m going to run
away. To Maui, maybe. I saw a sale on fares the other day. Couldn’t I get away,
just for a few days?
I
found myself dreaming of long walks on the beach, dipping my toes in the surf,
and drinking a Piña Colada as I watched the sun set, the sky
a hundred shades of gold.
My
mind drifted back to our trip a year ago, to celebrate our twenty-seventh wedding
anniversary. Scott and I went whale watching for the first time. What a thrill
to watch a mother and her calf swim near our boat. And the crystal clear photo
of a whale tail high out of the water that I captured still makes me smile. On
that trip, we also snorkeled and hiked, seeking out the beauty of nature as if
it was on its way to extinction. I couldn’t get enough.
Now,
life is filled with work and deadlines, chores and errands, and appointments.
Doctor appointments, physical therapy appointments, swimming appointments.
Almost two months ago, Scott twisted through a doorway while carrying a ladder
at work and in doing so, herniated a disc in his spine. Due to the pain in his
right leg caused by fluid hitting the sciatic nerve, he cannot sit down. He
can’t drive. He can stand and walk slowly, with a cane, or he can lie on a camping
cot that has now become a permanent fixture in our family room. The man who has
been my rock for almost thirty years can’t even put on his own socks.
Every
day, he looks out at our lush backyard and frets about spring and what the
growing season will bring.
“Who
will do it if I can’t?” he asked me once.
“We’ll
hire someone,” I told him, wanting to ease his mind. “It’s not a big deal.”
Tears
filled his eyes as he said, “But it’s my yard. I want to do it.”
With
this kind of injury, there is no certain fix. There are only paths to try on
the road to healing. Right now, we are on the conservative path. Physical
therapy. Pain medications. Rest. Time. Time that could be spent doing the
things we love – going to concerts, movies and plays, or traveling to beautiful
places that give us a break from the demands of everyday life.
Friends
and family members have shared their surgical success stories. A chiropractor
wouldn’t even touch Scott. “I can’t do anything for you,” she said. “You need
surgery.
The
decision to travel the conservative path is not one we are making, but one that
is being made for us. Because here in America, the land of the free and the
home of the brave, healthcare is anything but free and worker’s compensation is
a nightmare for even the most heroic.
I’ve
read accounts on the Internet from people who’ve had the same injury, but I don’t
tell my husband what I find. That sometimes, with or without surgery, it takes
years to recover. That sometimes, people never return to normal.
Instead,
I am his cheerleader. I put Post-it notes with affirmations on the bathroom
mirror for him to read every day.
“I
will be 100% again.”
“Good people are helping me heal.”
“I
am loved.”
I
know that with an injury like this, along with the medical care he is getting,
he also needs emotional care and support. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Again and
again he’s told me, “I couldn’t do this without you.” Last week, while I was at
work, he asked a friend to drive him to the store so he could buy me a bouquet
of flowers.
But
today, as I thought about my long to-do list, about the errands that need to be
done and the therapy Scott wants to do, I wondered, what about me? Where do
caregivers get their emotional care and support? How do people do this, day in
and day out, along with making sure all of the other things in life get done?
Things like grocery shopping, meal preparation, house cleaning, car
maintenance, bills and paperwork, taxes, etc. My mantra has become, “One day at
a time.” I can’t look too far ahead or I get overwhelmed and worried. One
partner is ordered to go to various appointments, do daily exercises, manage
the pain as best they can, and rest. The other partner must somehow figure out
how to do the work of two people, indefinitely.
I
know I shouldn’t complain. I sound like a selfish jerk. Yes, I go to bed
exhausted. But my husband goes to bed in pain.
Last
summer, our beloved dog, Stormy, a fourteen-year-old Lhasa Poo, had an eye
rupture. She’d had an age-related ulcer that we had decided to treat with daily
drops rather than expensive surgery. The vet said there was a small chance it
might rupture someday, and told me what to look for. When it happened, I could
see Stormy was in excruciating pain, and I screamed for my husband. He came
running and while I was a blubbery mess, Scott was the picture of calm. He told
me it would be okay as he picked up our dog and instructed me to get my purse and
keys. Tears fell while I drove. What did this mean for our beloved pet? Scott somehow
managed to whisper reassurances to me while also calling the vet’s office to alert
them we were on our way. A little while later, we made the difficult decision
to have the eye removed. After the surgery, because our vet’s office was
closing for the night, we had to take her to a 24-hour vet hospital for
monitoring. With her puffy, swollen head and lots of stitches, I was almost
afraid to touch her. But Scott tenderly cuddled our sleepy dog on his chest,
wrapped in a blanket like a baby, while we waited for her to be admitted.
This
man is one of the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever met. I’ve lost
count of how many times he’s helped random strangers over the years. There was
the time he gave twenty bucks to the struggling mother outside a grocery store.
Or the time he acted as a tour guide on and off for an entire week to two
Italian men he met and who clearly needed some navigational assistance. (They sent
us Italian wine to show their appreciation). I think my favorite, though, is the
time he brought two hitchhiking monks home and made them peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches.
At
work, he is the guy people call when they don’t know who else to ask or don’t trust
anyone else to get it right. For twenty-five years, he has worked in facilities
at a large company and while his title has changed over the years, his can-do
attitude has remained the same. “Other duties as assigned” has never had such a
broad application as it does when it comes to Scott’s work.
After
the physical therapist read the MRI results, she said to him, “What this tells
me is you have worked very hard your entire life.”
It’s
so true. But it’s more than a strong work ethic. Making other people happy is
what this guy is all about. He is a jack-of-all-trades but he is also a person
who cares deeply about helping others.
Helping
a man who has helped so many others isn’t the difficult part. Not really. It’s
everything else. It’s life, I suppose.
It’s
been over six months since Stormy’s surgery, and Scott and I find ourselves in
the middle of a new, much more serious, crisis. Although our old, deaf dog only
has one eye, she is back to her happy, healthy self. She is a cute and constant
reminder that injury and pain can be overcome.
In
many ways, today was kind of like the day Stormy’s eye ruptured. I panicked – this
situation is too hard, too stressful, I don’t want to do this, help me. Meanwhile?
My husband is the calm and level headed one, committed to doing the things that
might help his body to get better.
Turns
out he is still my rock, even if I do have to help him put on his socks.
Right
now, it’s difficult to say what Scott’s future holds. My hope is that soon his claim
will be approved, and then we will fight for microdiscectomy surgery.
Hope.
Every day, I must find a thread of it and hold onto it with everything I have.
Some days I find it and pass it to him. Some days he finds it and gives it to
me. Every day, we hold on together. I’m not sure how we do that, exactly, just
that we do. Maybe it’s some kind of magic sprinkled on a couple when they’ve
managed to stay married for almost thirty years. Or maybe, it’s knowing deep in
your heart that this is what you signed up for – in sickness and in health –
and the only way through is together.
And
while I don’t know how this story ends, I do know that I didn’t run away today.
Instead, I got up, repeated my mantra “One day at a time,” gave my husband a
hug and said, “Let’s focus on PT today. You can go to the pool on Saturday. Okay?”
“Okay,”
he said.
And
just like that, I could breathe a little easier.
As
for Maui, I figure it will still be there in a year or two or three. I think
it’s time to make a new Post-it note for the bathroom mirror. One that says, “Maui
is waiting for us.” We can both read it and dream of seeing that magical sunset
again. Side by side, the way it should be.
Lisa Schroeder
is the author of over twenty books for kids and teens. Her latest novel is SEE
YOU ON A STARRY NIGHT (Scholastic, June 2018). She is a native Oregonian and lives with her family outside of Portland.