Last weekend I came home to a sick family, and, true to form, my dearly beloveds passed it along to me. None of us likes getting sick, but I particularly dread it while living with Grandma and Grandpa because when the entire functioning of a house depends on you–well, you can’t afford to be sick. It’s miserable enough to be sick . . . it’s worse to be sick and have to make supper, or get up in the middle of the night repeatedly to take someone to the bathroom.
I came home to vist on Sunday and when I woke up Tuesday morning I was definitely coming down with a sore throat. I try to deal with my colds as decisively as possible, on the hopes that the occasion will be short. I drank as much tea and other liquids as I could on Tuesday, and I decided to take it a little easy when I went on my bicycle ride and didn’t ride all the way to the top of the murderous hill at the end point in my route.
I don’t know if it was my general good health, my drinking of plentiful liquids, or it simply happened to be a milder cold, but the worst of my suffering was contained to Tuesday. I had a sore throat and runny nose all Tuesday, and slept poorly (but not as bad as it could have been, thankfully) Tuesday night. God was merciful and Tuesday night was not a night that Grandpa had to go to the bathroom every hour. I stacked a bunch of pillows up to create an incline on my bed so my head would be elevated and the snot would drain out, instead of pooling up in my ears–that is a problem I often have and my solution, while not the ideal sleeping position, seemed so effective that I expect to use it in the future.
Wednesday morning I felt the worst was over. My sore throat was gone, and while I didn’t have my usual energy the pall of general misery felt as if it had lifted. I have improved every day, so that today (Friday) I just had some head congestion and a mild cough.
I would like to think that will be the only cold I’ll get this winter.
On a somewhat related note of how glad I am to be young and healthy, I came back from my Thursday bicycle ride to Grandpa in desperate need of going to the bathroom. He got all turned around and insisted on using the basement bathroom in spite of my suggestions. So I helped him down the stairs, plopped him on the toilet and then dashed off to my computer to write down some witty dialog that had come to me while out riding. Well, it really isn’t wise for me to leave Grandpa unsupervised in the bathroom anymore–though I do it all the time because it is boring to stand around twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to be finished–so I got what was coming to me when I came back to check on Grandpa and discovered that rather than just taking a leak he had pooped as well and attempted to wipe his behind, and was now scrubbing down the sink with the filthy poopy toilet paper.
There was a bit of hasty crises management as I quickly got the soiled toilet paper away from him and into the toilet, then rushed upstairs to retrieve the box of baby wipes and returned to clean the sink, Grandpa’s hands, and his bottom. With the garbage disposed of and Grandpa’s pants and diaper pulled up I suggested we go back upstairs. Grandpa was agreeable, but as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom he slumped slightly and said, “I just don’t feel like I have any strength.”
“Well, would you like me to carry you?” I said, half joking and mimicking the act of scooping him up in my arms. I have fielded this idea several times in the past under the guise of jest–but never pursued it because Grandpa never expressed willingness or interest and I was afraid carrying him cradled in my arms might cause extreme pain to his messed up lower back. Up until this point I have done all of my propelling and carrying of Grandpa by lifting him from his armpits–something of a cobbled and less than ideal compromise between him being in total control and him surrendering all control. I have written about previously how this is difficult for me as Grandpa is always jerking around and trying to hang onto things, forcing me to fight against and compensate for his activities.
So it has always been, but on Thursday when I made the half jesting offer Grandpa said, “Well, if you can do it without hurting me and without messing yourself up . . .” indicating to me that either his level of trust in me has grown or (more likely) demonstrating the level of his weakness and exhaustion.
Without waiting for any second thoughts on his part, I scooped him up in my arms and carried up upstairs and set him down on the couch. It was almost miraculously easy. He was quite light (125 lbs didn’t feel as heavy as I expected) and rested in my arms like a baby, apparently finding no pain or discomfort from the position. I deposited him on the couch and he seemed rather amazed that so much distance had been covered so effortlessly.
It’s so nice to have the health and strength of youth.
Humor aside, the incident was an eye opener for me. Namely, the easiest way for me to get Grandpa around is to carry him in my arms, and it doesn’t (or, perhaps I should qualify that and say hasn’t yet) hurt his back. It’s the best solution for me, and for Grandpa. In one respect it makes sense, if you think about it. When we have the strength, we are naturally inclined–and it is most convenient–to move other people around by carrying them. Most people don’t move a baby about the house in a stroller–it’s too awkward and the stroller gets in the way. We carry babies about the house and plunk them down wherever they want, or need, to be. While most people will never carry anyone heavier than a baby, the situation is much the same with Grandpa. The wheelchair is like a over-sized stroller, with the same frustrations as a stroller, only more so.
I realize that as much as possible Grandpa should be left to his walking, as (at least when he isn’t falling down) it is good for his physical health. Carrying him too much will only encourage him to become bed-ridden. But it can’t be denied that we are more and more heading in that direction, and it’s tempting to use it as the solution of first resort instead of last resort because it makes things so much simpler. Instead of engaging in a quasi-wrestling match with Grandpa to help him walk down the the hall–wherein Grandpa alternately tries to lean against the wall or pitch forward onto his face–I can simply scoop him up and carry him. It relieves both of us of our frustrations and difficulties.
That being said, carrying Grandpa doesn’t solve all transportation difficulties. First, for his health I will try to leave him to do as much walking as he can manage. Second, because of how this house was designed, it isn’t easy to carry him everywhere. It would be very hard–if not impossible–for me to carry him into the cramped bathroom. I would have to walk sideways through the door just to get in, and if I turned around he might hit his head or feet against a wall. Also, it wouldn’t be as convenient to carry him to a seat at the kitchen table as it is to carry him to the couch.
Even with these limitations, the option of simply carrying Grandpa is a great help, especially in the evenings when his strength is at its lowest ebb. He can be busy-busy all day, and especially in the afternoon–activity that is pure compulsion and it drives him past the point of his own endurance. Some days he reaches catastrophic failures–not that they all are real catastrophes, but I call them that because they when he suddenly reaches the point where he can’t go on.
For example, this evening as I was finishing up supper Grandpa was going this way and that in agitated activity headed toward collapse. (There is nothing you can do about it–unless you are willing to stop what your are doing, sit him down and sit down right beside him, and even that won’t work 100% of the time.) So I was finishing up supper when I heard the call, “Gene,” in tones of some distress.
I went and found Grandpa clinging to our bedroom door. In not so many words he said, “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, but I can’t do it anymore and I’m about to give out!” Previously, I would have been required to manhandled him back to the couch. This time I simply picked him up in my arms and deposited him on the couch–much to his relief. Again, this evening after a trip to the bathroom his legs seized up and forgot how to walk. Rather than devolving into a laborious struggle to the couch I simply picked him up and carried him there.
Now if only everyone could carry Grandpa we’d be all set.
Leave a Reply