Yesterday, Lauren had a routine medical test as a hospital outpatient; and because he had to be drugged, I accompanied him so I would be there to bring him home afterwards.
Every time I go through this routine for myself for general lab work (most of the time I don't need to be put to sleep), I remember all the times I have done so as the primary care person for Mom, Dad, or Den. So many trips, so many memories. I will probably never shake them. They will be fresh memories for me all the days of my life.
These memories were even stronger as I drove Lauren to the hospital yesterday.
As our time there progressed, I became surprised to realize how inadequate I felt when it came to being Lauren's primary care person for the day. It's not a role I usually play with him. It became clearer and clearer to me that Lauren is the one who's in charge most of the time when it comes to caring for both himself and for me. I don't recall ever being at a loss to participate in or make a decision for Mom, Dad, and Den. But this was different. I have rarely been in this "superior" position for Lauren, and I would need to learn a lot more about him - this husband of mine for 41 years and counting - before I would be competent to represent him in the event he needed me to do so.
Two things I learned, or was reminded of, yesterday and noted in my organizer: Lauren has metal screws in his left shoulder, as well as metal in his mouth, and he's alergic to amoxicillan.
I was there when the skiing accident happened that eventually resulted in screws in his shoulder. We were skiing in Utah - probably in 1997 or 1998.
I wish I could remember the name of the resort because it would be fun to go there again. Our condo faced the slopes, and we could watch the groomers every night as well as watch the skiers during the day if we weren't out on the slopes ourselves. The resort had a wonderful school-house slope there (translated, means very green and easy slope) where I spent my time while Lauren tackled the bigger slopes. He would come down periodically, as he always does, and check on me.
At this particular time, I was watching for Lauren because it was about time for him to do a routine stop-by to say "hi," and all of a sudden I saw this fellow shoot head first across the school-house run maybe 200 feet in front of me. Uh oh, I remember thinking. Not good. When I got there, I found out that it was Lauren. He had caught his ski on something, shot off the slope like out of a canon, and dislocated his shoulder when he landed.
The doctors at the slopes couldn't get his shoulder back in place, so an ambulance transported him down the mountain to a hospital in Salt Lake City. I followed. They were unable to do anything there, either, so they bundled up his arm in a sling and sent us home.
We had the maroon (or lotus) color Ford truck then, and it was the first time I had driven it. Lauren co-drove from the passenger seat, and we made it home just fine. A couple years of surgeries didn't solve the problem. The rotator cuff was beyond repair without more serious work, so Lauren ended up with a couple screws - and a little less range of motion than he was used to.
It was his choice because there were no guarantees that anything would ever fix his shoulder the way it should be; and he's lived with it, without complaining, since then.
That's probably part of it - Lauren doesn't complain about how he feels, so there's a lot about his physical comfort that I don't know about. I know he doesn't like noise; he doesn't like to be too hot; but I don't know what makes him more comfortable. He doesn't even like back rubs. He just takes care of himself.
The good news is that Lauren's test yesterday came out all A+s. The doctor came to see me as soon as he was through with Lauren and said everything was great. I was very glad. That strong and strong-willed man of mine, the one I don't know how to take care of, was so helpless as he went under and came out of sedation. I never thought about all the things I would need to know if he were to stay in that condition, the ways to take care of him and represent him that he would choose for himself if he could. There's a lot I need to learn about him before I would ever be ready to step in that role if he needed me to.
Even after we came home and he was working off the effects of the drugs, he didn't want me to fix him anything to eat. He went to the refrigerator and took care of it all himself. He had prepared Jello the day before, and we keep the refrigerator stocked with healthy but low-fat and sugarless yogurt and fruit.
The only thing he didn't do yesterday was take care of me, something I realize he's been doing more and more of these past years because he retired before I did. I actually had to fix my own sandwich for lunch and supper last night. I still know how to do it, and it's perfectly ok, but it's not normal around our house.
Lauren's a bit of a control freak, but I benefit so I don't complain. He washes dishes by choice; he fixes lunch and supper by choice (sometimes I prepare the meat or another dish ahead of time, but he takes care of getting it all together). I have laugh to myself when I want him to do something - usually all it takes is for me to announce that I'm going to do it. And there he is. He's doing it instead. He loves to do things, to take care of things. I could do it all for me, but what if I needed to do it for the both of us. Could I?
When he gets home from sailing this evening, I think we'll sit down and I'll make some more notes in my organizer. He does such a good job for me. I'm so lucky. The least I can do is try to learn how to do a good job for him, in case I ever need to.
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