43. RE-ENTRY BURN

…otherwise known as a rude awakening.

“Bye. We’ll be back for you tomorrow morning,” my son, daughter-in-law, granddaughter and one grandson assured. “…with plenty of time to make the flight.”

The four of them, us, kisses, hugs and chaos of bed-bouncing and handicapped amenity checking, overran the cramped space.

“Bye again. Have a good rest.”

The door to our hotel room clicked shut. Alone but for a luggage cart, hotel wheelchair, our carry-ons, cases, a bag of leftover goodies from our stay in Dorset to be eaten later for our picnic supper, the sudden quiet unnerved me. I filled the electric kettle and turned to a BBC TV channel to fill the void.

“Would you like a cuppa, David, and watch the news while we re-group?”

Hunched in the wheelchair, he stared at the screen, the tea beside him growing cold.

“How about a shower, then hopping into bed?” I suggested.

Motel days when David was able-bodied and together it was the pattern we always followed.

“The bathroom’s handicapped equipped and has an accessible walk-in.”

David nodded he’d like that.

Damn it his eyes had shut. I let down the grab bar beside the toilet and guided his hands onto them. Neither up nor down, bum mid air, he froze. Pushing, pulling, I struggled to get him to move. No family strong arm to call, it was up to me his caregiver to get him up.

Was I nuts? Plain obstinate? I should have packed in any idea of giving him a shower but by then the two of us were naked, and I had the ridiculous notion the play of warm water would bring him back.

Once in the walk-in shower I sprayed his head and back. Shampooed his scalp. Soaped him up. He preferred standing. Clinging to the grab bars he refused to sit on the safety seat. Forget me taking a shower. I’d be lucky if I managed to get through his. Cleansing over, I held both his hands and began the slow backwards shuffle across the glistening tiles. His eyes stayed glued. Not good.

“Oh Lordy, Lordy let me reach the bathmat’s safe haven, and get him into bed,” I prayed silently.

“Fool. Idiot?” I cursed inwardly, while outwardly encouraging,

“Nearly there. Nearly there. Just a couple more steps, darling.”

Not much of a lifeline, David, though taking baby-steps forwards, was pulling back, eyes still closed, mouth set in a grimace.

Whatever was I thinking to think I could shower him on my own? Perhaps this was the never-again lesson I needed, for at that moment David’s legs stiffened and his body slow-motioned into an unstoppable slither down the wet tiles to the floor. Landed with quite a bump. Dripping wet, David sat slumped sideways against the wall, legs turned beneath him.

Quick check: Head intact. No bleeding. No broken limbs, thank the lord.

Comforting him I wrapped him in a towel without trying to move him. Walked into the bedroom to devise a strategy and catch my breath.

Normally so capable, I was stumped. Should I, shouldn’t I pull the emergency cord? The indignity of the two of us being found naked gave me pause. I pulled a tee shirt over his head. Pulled on my clothes in case I was forced to call for help.

Using the wheelchair as an anchor, yoga belt for leverage, and every sinew of muscle I hauled him onto his knees and from there he pushed himself to his feet. Long story short, it took over an hour to get him to bed.

Wham. Bam. Alone in the airport hotel the realization hit me. I became David’s sole caregiver again. No gentle transition, no air braking burn, unlike an astronaut stepping from the dreamy confines of his spacecraft, re-entry left me stunned. My rotator cuff and back ached. My right knee screamed.

David smiled in his sleep, sheet tucked beneath his chin. Too tired to undress again, I collapsed onto my side of the bed.

Next morning, the family arrived, wheeled David and me to check-in. The airport angel appeared in the form of a supervisor to be our escort through security. I kissed and hugged our lovely family never wanting to relinguish their arms embrace.

“I miss you already,” I whispered unable to stop my tears.

Would David ever see them, ever return to their French farmhouse home again? Ever visit our eldest son in England? Visit our granddaughter at Aberdeen University in Scotland, to Germany to our eldest grandson’s university? Why did I live so far away?

Once in the air, wrapped in London’s grey clouds, a shot of Jack Daniels in our hands, David opened his eyes, ate his ravioli and chocolate mousse un-aided. I sighed. We were safe. On our way home.

All of a sudden, David began un-clipping his seat belt. He clamped my arm.

“I must speak to someone now. We have to solve this, and get off. This isn’t right. We’re doubling back.”

His eyes flashed. The urgency in his voice scary.

“I’m trapped,” he asserted. “I must get out of here.”

If his anxiety erupted into panic we were done. What if he managed to get to his feet, made to open the airplane door, if he had to be restrained?

“Try to understand. Everything is fine, darling. We’re flying home. We are in the air over Greenland and can’t get off till we reach Atlanta. Then, one more little hop and we’ll be in Albuquerque.”

Going to Atlanta bothered him. Meant we were heading back to Heathrow.

“But why Atlanta…?”

I pushed the button, righted his seat to upright.

“Better?” I distracted. “Oops. It’s time for your pills. Now how about watching a film?”

This was an emergency situation. I slipped an anti-anxiety pill into his mouth without his say-so. Fitted his headphones. Turned on The Zoo Keeper’s Wife. Prayed.

“Four hours to go. Just let him get home safely, God. I swear, I swear never to fly a long haul with him again.”

Engrossed in the film, he settled for the most part. Every half hour or so he pulled off his headphones fussing we needed to get out and off. Each time I calmed him.

“Soon. We’ll be landing in a few hours.”

This was too hard on him. Too cruel. I realized this must be the last time I put him through such stress.

The Delta air stewards kept a kindly eye on him, helped him to sit and stand in the plane’s lavatory…YES an airline with a handicapped accessible toilet…though David froze with his legs stiffened straight preventing the door from closing.

Lying there beside him, memories of life before our holiday flooded back. Time away from home so happy by contrast. How could I keep that same contentment and slow pace once we were home? And calmly accept David’s limitations as the family had these past six weeks. I shuddered at the image of who I’d become…the stressed out, shameful screecher barely able to drag through the day. Dump that unpleasant me forever, I determined.

Home. We pushed open the front door. Newly polished terracotta tiles shone unsullied as a field of standing wheat awaiting the harvester’s scythe — an opportunity for us to make fresh tracks, re-structure David’s last years. Mine too most likely. Nothing dramatic. Just a gradual winding down. It’s not that I’ve given up on him. More that I’ve made my mind to take a step back and not to push activity after activity onto him. Allow David room enough to be the clichéd slippered old man gazing into the fire if he so choses. I open the calendar. Empty but for a neurologist’s appointment, September’s page stares empty—for the moment.

Please applaud me if you like my piece. I look forward to your comments.

Next week’s blog: Hmm? Not sure yet.

Previous blogs:

1.Wearing a Hat from Hell * 2.Back Story before the Tidal Wave. * 3.There’s a Mouse in the Room. * 4.Shape-shifting — Husband to Patient:Wife to Caregiver. * 5.Think your Home is your Castle? Think again. * 6.Vision Quest beyond the Box. * 7. Cats in the Belfry. * 8.“En Guard Messieurs”…Dare me: cross this Line. * 9.Like it or No — Prepare to Play God. * 10.’Tis the Season to be Jolly — not for me it isn’t. * 11.Hello. Hello? Anyone Home? * 12.The Blue Hole — 90 miles ahead. * 13.Disabled — Daft — Demented? * 14.Up. Up and Away…* 15.Humble Pie. * 16.What do I have to Complain About. * 17. Come Back Tooth Fairy. * 18. Promises Promises. * 19. Fly Fly Away. * 20. Refresh. Reboot. * 21. Can this be Happening * 22. Hate when David… * 23. What if…? * 24. Hanuman and I have a Birthday.* 25. Happy and Glorious.* 26. High Time. * 27. * Change?…As good as a Rest. * 28. It’s a Long Way… * 29. Missing Something? * 30. Are we there yet? 31.* To voice or not to voice — I’m talking feelings here. 32.* Metamorphisis…grub to?*33. Roller Coaster. * 34. Testing. Testing. * 35. A Bird’s Eye View.* 36. Crossroads. *37. Madam your slip is showing.* 38. If only caregiving was… as easy. * 39. Where everything is possible. *40. Out to Pasture.* 41. Congratulations. You’re a winner. * 42. …and counting. *

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…perfect I can never be. WEARING A HAT FROM HELL, my husband’s caregiver, just 80, I am tired. My husband has Parkinson’s. He is tired too. www.galisteoliz.com

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