The broken wrist, caregiver husband

One never knows what path they might be taking. In mid-December, I am sure I would have taken a different one had I known which path I would be taking. Bob and I were getting ready to go to a funeral when I decided to go down in the basement to throw some logs on the fire. As I was heading for the furnace, I lost my balance and started to fall head first on the basement floor. I reached for the first thing handy which was the basement stairs and, regrettably, with my left hand (I am left handed) as I latched onto the stairs, I twisted my wrist and thought I heard a snap. It hurt like thunder and immediately began to swell. I raced upstairs, as fast as a senior citizen can, to tell Bob my tale of woe. I decided to stay home and Bob left for the funeral. By the time he arrived home from the funeral, my wrist was swollen to the size of a goose egg. I put Aloe Vera on until I went to bed that evening. By the next morning, the goose egg was gone, but my whole hand and wrist were quite swollen and black and blue.

Bob said, "No ifs ands or buts, I am taking you to urgent care at the clinic."

I think I knew before the doctor read the x-ray that my wrist was broken.

The fella that put on the cast asked, "What color do you want?" Color? "Oh yes," he said. "We have many colors to choose from." So I chose denim blue. At that moment it could have been polka dots for all I cared. By now I was feeling real sorry for myself. In fact I could feel a good "pity" party coming on. The cast was to be on for three weeks and they would then cut it off. An x-ray would be taken to see if it was healing OK. If so, they would leave it off. Since I am left handed, I was almost helpless. I couldn't write or use my key board. But I did manage to eat with my right hand. There are so many things that absolutely need two hands. As washing dishes, I was told in no uncertain terms I couldn't get the cast wet. Bob likes to do dishes, so that wasn't a problem. The worst thing was I couldn't take a shower, and that just about did me in. Giving myself "spit baths" with one hand. Washing my hair in the sink with one hand was quite an ordeal too.

As the three weeks began to unfold, I found Bob to be a great care giver in many ways. But in other ways, he seemed to be blind to what I thought was quite obvious. For instance, for supper one evening between the two of us, we managed to fix pork chops and a baked potato. Most of the time we eat our lunch and supper on trays in the living room by the fire and watch the news. So far, so good, right? Wrong, before he put the baked potato on my plate, he cut it in half with a dab of butter. He brought my tray in, sat it down and then proceeded to bring his in. He said the prayer and then began to eat, I sat there and looked at my plate, there was no way on God's green earth that I could cut that pork chop with one hand, especially my right hand. The potato wasn't mashed or salted or peppered.

I thought to myself, I will eat this pork chop like finger food. I also picked up the half of potato and ate it with my fingers.

Just as I was eating the last bite, Bob looked up and said "Oh, did you want your pork chop cut up?"

To which I replied, "No thanks Bob, I just finished." End of conversation. Another time he carried his tray in and started eating, completely forgetting my tray. So I made several trips to the kitchen bringing in one item at a time, because I was told I couldn't lift anything heavier than a can of pop with my left hand and setting them on the lamp table beside my chair.

I was almost finished eating when he looked up and said, "Oh do you want your tray?"

To which I replied, "No Bob, I am almost finished." Satisfied, he went back to watching the news. What a guy.

Then there was the problem of buckling myself into my seat belt in the car, which was impossible for me. I thought after the first three or four times, he would just naturally know I needed to be buckled in, but no, it never seemed to cross his mind. So now I pull out my seat belt with my right hand and hold it up in the air and then, bless his heart he gets the message. It was and still is almost nigh unto impossible to put my socks on with one hand.

Every morning I have to hold my sock up, and then a little light comes on and he says, "Oh yeah, you need help with your socks."

I am going to have to bring this to a close, as it is hurting my hand and wrist to use the keyboard.

Another chapter from this one-armed granny next week.