Tending to Endings (forty-one)
On Monday, John had bilateral knee replacement surgery. It’s COVID times and so this means I pulled up to the circular drive of the small hospital and hugged him at the curb like I was dropping him off at the airport. Only this time, rather than luggage, he walked through the sliding glass doors carrying a collapsible walker and an Iceman cooler pack.
Then I drove home and watched the phone.
It was an hour before the nurse called me to let me know he had gone into surgery. “We know you can’t come see him, so you can expect a call from the surgeon in about two and a half hours, maybe a bit longer since it’s both knees.”
Sitting in hospital waiting rooms has never been my thing, and yet now that my husband was in surgery, I felt something important was being kept from me. It’s what we do when we can’t do anything to help a person suspended between life and death—we wait as close by as possible to hear news.
My wording may sound dramatic, I realize. They weren’t doing a heart transplant, after all, only replacing his knees. Still, certain experiences remind me of our vulnerability more than others and surgery is one of them. I admit to feeling a similar sensation each time I am on a plane, and my sons have received many texts over the years: The plane is about to take off! I love you very much!
This is not John’s first knee surgery. That happened nineteen years ago, during the first months of our relationship when John skied into the trees looking like the expert powder hound that he is and emerged, much later than expected on one ski, the other leg dangling limply behind.
“I forgot I wasn’t 18,” he said, with a look of despair. He had taken a jump and landed on the side of his ski and busted an ACL.
When John’s surgery was scheduled about a month later, he asked whether I would help him during recovery. We weren’t living together at this time, and this would mean him staying at my house for a few days.
Sometimes people send me nice notes about this blog and tell me how empathetic I am. Sometimes, I start to believe it. And then I remember that my first reaction to anyone needing anything from me is so often self-centered. This seems particularly true of nursing opportunities. On occasion, for instance, I would attempt to talk my kids out of being sick when they were young. Once—as my sons are fond of reminding me—this resulted in Gabe throwing up on the bus on the way to school and me having to come get him in the nurse’s office.
When John asked if I would help him post surgery, I said, “Sure!” It seemed the right thing to say.
But what I felt was very reluctant. I wasn’t even sure we were at the pick-each-other-up from the airport stage in our relationship. The weekends when my kids were at their dads was supposed to time to catch up with my own life and work and to have some semblance of social life. I liked John, but my priorities were my kids and healing myself, not a serious relationship.
My counselor pointed out that helping someone post-surgery did not actually mean we were at any particular point in our relationship. It could just mean I was helping out a friend. That seemed slightly more realistic than my perspective which considered helpfulness as a sort of gateway drug that could result in my ending up accidentally married again.
And so, after John’s surgery, the boys stayed at their dad’s for couple days, and John stayed at my house. I don’t remember having to do all that much nursing. Mostly I remember having a relaxing weekend and making it through couple seasons of the Sopranos that someone loaned us in box set.
All this comes back to me in a rush of memories as I try to do simple chores while I waiting for the surgeon to call. Much has changed. John and I are married, something we did very much on purpose about four years after that first knee surgery. He has helped raise my kids and I’ve gotten to share in the joy when two of his daughters each brought a beautiful, new human into the world.
There has been a little sickness, but so far, mostly health. And ’til death is a more of a comfort to me these days than it used to be when it brought on a sensation akin to vertigo. Admittedly this may be in part because our life expectancy suggests only two to three decades to go. But also, I know I have a pretty sweet deal.
And I’ve learned some things the long, hard way. Caregiving, it turns out, is not one-sided. The times I’ve been needed the most—with my sons at the beginning of their life and with my mom at the end of hers—have been the most profound experiences of my life.
Of course we need each other. We need family members or friends to nurse us back to health and a midwife to welcome the baby and the pilot to fly us over the ocean to be with our dying parent. During COVID times we need staff at hospitals to say reassuring things to our loved ones as they go into surgery.
And we need the surgeon to call. Which he finally does after a little more than three hours, by which time I have stopped doing my half-hearted chores and am instead putting all my energy into staring at the phone and trying to remember to breathe.
“It went really well,” the doctor says, “And, wow those knees were worn out. Some of the worst I’ve ever seen!” I know this will please John, both because it confirms his rugged lifestyle, and because it means we didn’t waste time, pain, and money on unnecessary surgery.
I text his daughters and my sons and all the other people in our life who made me promise to let them know how surgery went. And then I go into the kitchen and my own knees buckle a bit, and I weep. This surprises me. Of course it is relief, I’m feeling, and also a recognition of all those blessings circling in the breeze. Of so much love.
Reader Question
I’m planning and upcoming post on resources for those who are primary caregivers for family members. If you have resources to share that have helped you through the day-to-day experience of being a caregiver, please email them to Laura@Laurastavoe.com. These can be books, podcasts, films, groups, websites, or even stories of your own experiences. I’m also interested to know whether COVID protocols have changed caregiving for you and how are you getting through. And as always, I’m interested to hear thoughts, questions or suggestions about Tending to Endings either by email or in the comments below.
If you would like to receive Tending to Endings each Friday, please leave your email here. Thank you for your interest!
I could so relate to the self centeredness when someone asks you to do something for them. Also have a similar experience with sending a sick child to school!
So glad I’m not the only one, Kimmie. 😉
My friend Mike M suggested that this might be helpful to me. My mother just passed a few days ago at 91. I was her caregivef 24/7 for the past several years.
Greg, my sympathy on the loss of your mother. Many of us are here because we’ve been through a great loss or two (and for Laura’s insights and those of others). Knowing that you did right by your mother in her last years will eventually help heal the loss.
Condolences, Greg. And thank you for showing up here. There are posts tagged under a variety of topics including grief. I hope you find something helpful. I appreciate your interest.
Laura, I am reading this on Oct 19, so it’s been a week since the surgery and John is probably plotting his return to Bogus Basin by now. As always, thanks for your beautiful writing and wholehearted sharing.
Thank you, Julie. Always so good to hear from you!