This is Getting Ridiculous

I closed my eyes and rubbed at the headache blooming between my eyes last night as I climbed into bed.

After keeping a confident smile on my face all day and reassuring Jerry that everything was under control … it was a relief to say goodnight and head upstairs, leaving him snoozing peacefully in his recliner.

Upstairs, where I took one look at my bed and wanted to knock my head against the wall.

Seriously?

You know Jer fell on the ice at curling practice on February 4th and fractured his right leg. Three non-displaced fractures, leaving him totally non-weight bearing on that leg.

It has been challenging to cope with a mostly chair-bound husband. It seems 71-year-old men don’t hop around well on just one foot, and he remains wobbly on crutches, but we were doing OK. Nothing lasts forever, right? I’ve even tried out a few new recipes on my captive audience.

Rhonda & Baxter have been a big help in keeping Jer’s spirits up.

Then, three weeks after his accident, we realized one evening that the room was chillier than usual. I flicked the thermostat up. Nothing happened. I trotted down the stairs to the basement, where I was met by ominous silence. At that point, I wasn’t surprised to feel the stone cold metal of the boiler.

The boiler-repair tech actually showed up within an hour of my [only slightly] frantic phone call, but after all was said and done, he lacked the part needed to fix it and assured us he would return with it first thing in the morning.

In the meantime, with overnight temps around 10F expected, I’d already started a fire in the wood stove and knew I was facing a long night of interrupted sleep as I’d have to keep the stove fed.

The only bright side that day was the boiler repair man who, before he left at 10:30 pm, pulled our big (empty) sled out to the wood shed and filled it. He pulled the sled right up onto the front porch, saving me a huge amount of work.

The boiler was indeed back to rolling out warm air and hot water before noon the next day. Yay, life could resume as normal.

But wait … not so fast.

Four days later, after starting yet another load of wash, I had finally managed to sit down at my spinning wheel for a much needed break.

I’ve been a bit appalled by how much laundry is generated by someone who is mostly chair-bound and unable to shower. My husband has sensitive skin. Keeping him clean, comfortable, and clear of rashes or bed sores, has meant not only daily “hot, wet washcloth baths” and soothing balms, but daily sheet changes (covering his lift-chair) and morning and evening fresh boxers and t-shirts. It adds up fast.

As I spun, a beeping interrupted my relaxation. It was coming from the laundry room. Rolling my eyes at needing to get up again so soon after sitting down, I set my beautiful fiber aside and headed for the laundry room, expecting a quick reset.

Nope. Not this winter. This winter, everything seems to be a catastrophic failure of some sort. The washing machine was flashing error codes, beeping loudly, running but not spinning – and worse, would not drain. Because it would not drain, the door remained locked closed, holding my laundry hostage!

The only way to stop the running but non-functioning washing machine and stop the eternally be-danged beeping, was to unplug it. This stopped the noise, but I still couldn’t get to my clothes.

So … broken leg, broken boiler, broken washing machine. All repairable or, in the case of the washing machine, replaceable, given time and money, but the stress of one thing building on top of another – I was hard put to keep calm and confident so that Jer would not feel anxiety over his inability to help.

I saw this on Facebook yesterday. In my current state of mind, it actually gave me a chuckle. 😂

When I finally headed to bed last night, I was in need of nothing more than a good night’s sleep.

What I found instead was a bed covered in cat vomit. Oh joy. Not only on the electric blanket, either. It seems, in trying to cover his “accident”, Qiviut had pulled the blanket back – and then threw up again, this time on the bed sheets. Yes, it soaked all the way through to the mattress pad.

And, as of earlier that day, no functional washing machine. Thus the desire to bang my head against the wall.

Compulsive Tidiness

Nope, compulsive tidiness is not a problem at my house. Especially not these days.

I should admit, I started this blog before Jer’s accident, but I wanted to finish it and get it posted, so tweaked and updated it here and there to make it more relevant.

In my fantasy life, everything in my house is clean, tidy and organized. It’s cozy, warm and inviting and I can invite friends to stop by for tea and cookie’s without a qualm. In my fantasy life.

In my real life, my housekeeping has been mediocre at best over the years, sliding into embarrassingly lax at times when I just want to give up, knowing the end result is still a case of putting lipstick on a pig (no insult meant to pigs).

Our house is small, poorly laid-out (entirely our own fault since we planned and built it ourselves 😂 in 1999-2001), and shabby inside and out largely due to lack of upkeep after Jerry’s 2009 traumatic brain injury. Arthritis, fibro and outside interests have also played a part.

Before his TBI, we had all sorts of updates and remodels planned, with our meager budget based entirely on Jer’s proven ability to do much of the work himself.

After the TBI, years passed with Jer insistent that as he healed, his skills would return. Some have, for which I’m grateful. Too many others … haven’t.

So we live with linoleum that was meant to be beautiful wood floors, and a kitchen that was never completely finished and would better fit the current fad for “tiny homes” (it seems our amateur home-designer skills didn’t take the width of countertops, ovens and refrigerators into account in our square footage).

The exterior hasn’t been repainted since 2001. We did finally hire out the job of replacing our front porch and steps last summer – mainly because it was becoming unsafe.

Front porch almost done; August 2022.

Anyway, back on the topic of keeping house.

I tend to go through fits of cleaning, where the bathrooms get sanitized top to bottom and the bedroom is clean and organized.

I choose these rooms to keep clean because they are most likely to actually stay tidier without too much angst. Jerry has very little impact upstairs, for example, since (even before his accident), he would come up to bed around 11:00 pm and head straight back downstairs as soon as he awakened at around 4:00 am. For now, of course, he doesn’t come up at all.

I would feel like I’d accomplished something for a few days at a time, but mostly I ended up depressed and overwhelmed because there is no way to stay ahead of my husband’s hoarding-like tendencies.

Tendencies, btw, which I was aware of before we married, but naively chocked up to his being busy with work and a typically messy life-long bachelor. *Apologies here to my 50-year-old nephew, John, who keeps a lovely bachelor home he has every right to be proud of.

Why am I bringing this up today? Well, with Jer hobbled to his recliner/lift chair, I’ve finally had the freedom to wade into the kitchen and even (gasp) make a dent in the living room

It’s not really Jer’s fault, and I DO remember that most of the time. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change the everyday reality. The severe TBI Jerry suffered in 2009 caused a lot of problems, with changes to his personality being only one aspect.

Another side affect of the TBI is referred to as an “inability to initiate”; meaning that even with a written list and the best of intentions, he often doesn’t follow through with plans.

This can include little things like emptying the trash or vacuuming the living room, or things of more consequence like remembering to call and make a doctor appointment – or follow through with his PT routine.

One behavior that drives me bonkers is Jerry’s anxiety over any sort of change. I completely understand it’s an after-affect of the TBI, and it’s sad that it so thoroughly put the skids on our plans to travel after he retired (in 2007).

But it also affects everyday life in a way I hadn’t expected. If something, be it furniture, pots and pans (clean OR dirty), a book, or even a piece of paper, sits in one place for more than a couple of days – it now belongs there and relocating it can create anxiety and anger. Even if he WANTS to change something, he finds it stressful.

I fear Jerry will be appalled when he finally gets his foot under him steadily enough to make it to the kitchen. I cleaned it – and not everything is where he last had it. Even the burnt-on crumbs on the range top had to go. Really, they did. I’m just hoping Jer hadn’t named them. 😟

Please understand, I’m not bashing Jer. I love him. These TBI-generated quirks, although frustrating, are part of our new reality since 2009. 🤷🏼‍♀️

We seriously need to replace our flooring and carpeting (there have been way too many puppies, dogs, dirty boots and spills over the past 25 years and spot-cleaning can only do so much), but there’s no way that can happen without moving ALL the furniture, which means cleaning and clearing and emptying.

At our age and general health, that’s just not going to happen. We don’t have family in Alaska to turn to for help, so we periodically vacuum, sweep and mop and pretend it’s not … awful.

Hey, on the bright side, this past week, I managed to give away Jer’s beloved old recliner (there was definitely not room for two!) and I sold the huge coat rack, er … I mean treadmill. Yay! There is room now for Jer to practice walking on crutches!

On the other hand, my Winnebago, which Jer spends maybe two weeks a year in (a few days here, a few days there), is pristine. I’m almost obsessive about keeping it clean. I think it’s because I have control of that environment, where I have a lot less control at home.

I sure hope Jerry is recovered enough by May to be safely independent. I’m going to be SO sad if I have to forego dog sports trials and camping this summer.

Healing’s a Slow Process

I’m so sorry for keeping everyone waiting. I’ve literally been too busy, or more accurately too tired, to put more than a few words together in a coherent sentence.

I’d forgotten, over the past 13 years since Jer’s last major catastrophe, how intense and time-consuming caregiving is. And I’m 13 years older. Sigh.

Jerry’s recovery is going pretty much according to plan, thank goodness. He had follow-up X-rays taken a few days ago, showing no displacement of the fractures, so we celebrate small wins and carry on.

His leg will continue to be completely non-weight-bearing for about another month before he might be allowed light tippy-toeing.

He is supposed to be doing three times daily exercises given to him by our in-home PT, Sydney. Yes, I said “supposed to be”, because I’m finding it frustrating that Jerry seems less than motivated to actually do them.

Seriously, three sets of ten “sit/stands” (on one leg) does not mean two sets of five with a ten-minute break in between. I know his good leg is weak, and even when using his hands on the arms of his chair – it’s hard work. But not pushing it means not improving. He needs the strength to make it with crutches, or by hopping along with the walker as support/balance, at least as far as the bathroom. 😕

More to come.

Oh My … What Next?

The past two week have been … challenging. I’m too tired to go into details, but basically, I’m back into caregiver mode.

It’s nothing terribly dramatic; on February 4th, Jer fell on the ice during a curling practice and broke his right leg. More precisely; he broke both of the bones of his lower right leg.

Being idjit men 😏, Jer and his curling friends decided they should just bring Jerry home, thinking it was a sprain or something. I can’t imagine the pain involved in carrying him out to a car, driving from Palmer to our home in Wasilla and then carrying him into the house.

Hey, in the moment, they (including Jer) thought they were doing the right thing. We elevated his leg, put ice packs on it, and he spent a painful night in the recliner since there was no way we could get him upstairs.

Early the next morning, we ended up calling 911 and sending Jer off to the emergency room – this was obviously more than a sprain, and I couldn’t physically help him.

It turned out he has a posterior tibial plateau fracture, a non-displaced fracture of the shaft of the right fibula and a fibular head fracture. Three fractures in one fall. Two are right at the top of the bones, where they connect with the knee.

They took X-rays and a CAT scan, then sent him home with his leg in a big full-leg immobilizer brace and orders for total non-weight-bearing. Even the smallest amount of weight on the leg could cause displacement of one or more of these fractures, sending him to surgery.

We ended up having to order a non-emergency medical transport to bring him home. The brace on his leg wouldn’t fit in the car and he was too weak and in pain to hop on one leg with crutches, so we couldn’t even attempt a back-seat transfer. I wouldn’t have been able to get him up the steps and into the house anyway. I sure hope insurance covers that ride home.

Then the problems really started.

I’ll update as things settle into a routine here. Although there have been some seemingly insurmountable obstacles, so far we have muddled through, taking one day at a time.

Baxter and Rhonda have been taking turns carefully curling against Jer’s good leg, sending him all the healing vibes their warm little bodies can impart.