To be a good caregiver, you must care
| Thursday, Mar 25 2010 09:16 PM
Last Updated Thursday, Mar 25 2010 09:16 PM
Last week, Sue had knee surgery and I was thrust in the role of a caregiver. She's fine and I lived, too. I was looking for a second chance. Fifteen years ago, she had pneumonia. I failed that test and it went down on my permanent record.
She thought she was dying and I thought she was loafing. These women will do anything for extra rest. Even almost die.
Chris Hamilton did her knee surgery. He had patients lined up in the post-operating room like beach houses. For an orthopedic surgeon, beach house is the operative word.
When I picked her up, I decided against flowers even though that might have been a good makeup call. I didn't want to look desperate.
I pulled to the side of the surgery center so the nurse could wheel her out. My door was closest to the curb.
"Would you mind flipping the car around so she doesn't have to step off the curb and walk an extra 10 feet?" the nurse said sternly.
Would I mind? I'd be delighted. I was getting ready to do that.
We drove home. I tried to be conversational. Women love conversation, especially after surgery when they're feeling sorry for themselves.
Sue's mom brought over lasagna and soup for dinner. Good thing. I had thawed a steak for myself because I knew I had to keep my strength up. You don't want your caretaker to get weak and keel over, do you?
She sat on the couch. I asked if she wanted a blanket. She did. How about your cell phone? That too. Would you like some water? Yes. How about the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle.
Is there anything you don't want? This is not a skilled nursing facility. Are you aware that your convalescence is cutting into my nap?
I wanted a list. The list, however, has rules. You're limited to 10 things a day. Tomorrow, you get another 10. Carry-overs are not allowed.
A neighbor cut roses and put them in a vase on the dining room table. Another brought apricot scones. A third sent a heartfelt card.
There is nothing wrong with a raft of caregivers. I found myself taking credit for what they were doing as if I had done them myself. Scones, roses, cards, soup, this is the sort of thing I would do, if the others hadn't done them first.
"Can you pick up a prescription at Rite Aid?" she said later. "I have some pain pills."
Pain pills? It's been six hours now. Aren't you better yet?
You'd better get better. Otherwise, I'll call in hospice. I'll call in hospice and you'll be going home to see Grandma Packer without me.
"She was a good and kind woman, but she just didn't get well quick enough so I had to put her down."
I have a philosophy about caregiving. You don't want to over-care. There is such a thing as too much attention. Dr. Benham has found that smothering the patient can interfere with the healing process.
Call it a tough love brand of caregiving. Self reliance. Standing on your own feet as it were.
"You know, not one of the kids has called me," she said the first night.
They haven't? If the tables had been reversed, she would have baked them a cake, sat by their bedsides and held their hands.
I texted them with a guilt message. Two were moved by the guilt, and two ignored it.
They don't realize. It goes on your permanent record. That book never goes out of print.
These are Herb Benham's opinions and not necessarily The Californian's.
