The Q-View

(This is the third in a series reflecting on how life changed in a way that was–and still is five years later–unfathomable to me.)

On April 29, thirty-five days after the ambulance took her to the hospital, I picked Terry up at rehab to bring her home. She signed herself out of rehab because she felt it wasn’t doing much for her. I had my misgivings, but her choice. The mental fog–apparently caused by the cellulitis–had dissipated. 

For the time being.

A hospital bed was delivered a couple of days later, and Terry slept in the living room. She couldn’t get up the stairs.

May 2020 was a procession of nurses, PTs, OTs, teleconferences, and office visits. The preliminary PT goals were simple: learn to climb the steps and sleep in her own bed.

 Daily maintenance–which involved wrapping Terry’s legs to prevent swelling, laps around the house for exercise, dressing assistance, toileting help, plus the normal daily tasks like cooking and cleaning fell to me.

A loving relationship is full of little intimacies that strengthen a couple’s bond beyond the bedroom: hand-holding, back scratches, spontaneous pecks on the cheek, foot rubs, pet names, conversations we could not have with anyone else.

Helping Terry with her bathroom hygiene, dressing her, and wrapping compression bandages around her legs were surprisingly intimate moments, even though they were among the “worse” of the wedding vows. I experienced a rush of warmth that somehow felt like the novel affection in our early days of dating and marriage. It was just Terry and me. Together.   

I had small time windows to shop because I did not want to leave Terry alone for any length of time. Sometimes, I could run out quickly while a therapist was there. Eventually, we got to a point where I felt she could be trusted to stay in the kitchen chair or the hospital bed while I made a store run or kept my own appointments.

But, one time I returned home to find Terry taking unassisted laps. Kitchen-hallway-left turn-family room-left turn-kitchen-left turn. 

“What are you doing?” I asked when I saw her shakily balancing herself against the recliner in the family room. No walker. No cane.

I was alarmed. All sorts of disasters could have happened. 

But, I was also very proud of Terry. Her determination was encouraging. 

Nevertheless, we had a little chat about not taking chances when I was not around.

Recovery was not a straight line. There were issues with the side effects of the plethora of medications she was taking. 

One day, Terry was talking to a nurse at the kitchen table. I stood behind Terry, separated by the island, facing the nurse. To the nurse, the conversation sounded completely normal. Terry was going on about the visitors she had and getting back to work and how much progress she had made in getting around the house.

It was all nonsense. The nurse and I made eye contact and I shook my head. She and I had a conversation out of Terry’s earshot.

“None of that stuff happened,” I said. 

The nurse made some calls and medications were eliminated or adjusted and Terry seemed to return to a normal mental state.

If I had not been present for the conversation between Terry and the nurse, the mental confusion would have continued. Which was what had happened in the hospital and the rehab.

Another time, Terry thoroughly confused her medications as she tried to put them in the drug box for the week. It took me a while to unravel what she had done. I took over divvying up the medicines for the week.

Still, the setbacks were temporary and Terry appeared to be making progress, so much so that I felt confident enough to leave her alone for a few hours and drive to my mother’s house, an hour away in Ardmore.

My mother had suffered a stroke in 2010 and was basically confined to her house, but she could mostly take care of herself. Three of us children divided up shopping trips and doctors appointments and visits. I had not really been able to help out since Terry came home.

I told Terry to stay on the first floor and not attempt any stairs while I was gone, to keep her phone with her at all times, and to call me right away if she needed me.

After I had dinner with my mother, I cleaned up and called Terry to see how she was. 

Our friend Vicki answered Terry’s phone. Terry had fallen and could not get up. Vicki came over, but she could not raise Terry off the floor. Two neighbors were called, and together they managed to get Terry upright. 

I quickly said goodbye to my mother and started home. 

The Good Samaritans had left by the time I got back to East Greenville. Terry wasn’t hurt, but she was embarrassed.

The next time the PT came, we asked him to give us strategies so Terry could get off the floor by herself if a fall happened again.

All in all, though, Terry was making encouraging progress. 

Our son Steve and his wife Amanda had their first child on June 21, 2020, and Terry was anxious to see him. 

We entered July daring to make plans for the future.