I Can Do Nothing All My Myself

After leaving the hospital, things got difficult. My husband had to work all the time and we were expecting his parents to arrive in 3 weeks. I had class and I also taught music lessons to 6 kids during the week. Additionally, we lived in a 4 storey home, and have a dog. There just wasn't anyone who wasn't busy or exhausted who could do anything.

My husband had to take over all my normal duties around the house - which was no easy task. I practically laid in bed or on the couch all day unless I had to give lessons, or use the computer. Okay, I'll be honest. Using the computer was horrible, I didn't really use it ... I massacred it. I'd go check my email, check my facebook, check my bills, etc, and all of this would take so long because I couldn't type and I couldn't use the mouse with my right hand. I wasn't great with using the mouse backwards, and I often threw fits because I'd screw something up.

Take for example the day I was trying to do bills. See, I have this system where I check the bank balance online every day, input anything into a spreadsheet that we do our balance on, and then make sure bills are set up for payment on the 1st or 15th. Since we were in Germany, this was very important to do every day. And, to also check the daily exchange rates so we knew if we could get Euros or not. So, I'm doing this, and I have a difficult time keeping from clicking the wrong thing. So I'm clicking around on a site where I'm paying on our bills and because I'm trying to use the mouse left-handed, I hit the wrong button. I paid the bill twice because I accidentally left the payment page, went back in, pushed the paid button, and it said that I had two pending payments. Needless to say I get really frustrated.

Throwing fits became somewhat regular. The pain was intolerable, and I got hardly any sleep because of it. I had to constantly take baths and could only take them when my husband was home because I couldn't wash myself, I couldn't get in and out without his help, and I couldn't shave. That was awful. So, I'd have to wait until he came home at 7 in the morning, and then until he'd get up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I taught him how to wash my hair and face, and then he'd scrub the ever loving crap out of me. Since the surgery I'd been sweating a lot - partially because of the pain and partly because of persistent fevers. It's important to me to smell good - or at least clean. I hate feeling gross and since I'd never been sweaty like this in my life, it made me angry and self-conscious.

I'd also have to wait for my husband to cook, to clean, to do laundry, and to do my schoolwork. I took classes with a university that has a division specializing in military overseas. It's a nationally accredited university, founded in the 1800s, so it's all legit and they're famous for their courses abroad. Anyhow, I worked it out with my instructor that I would dictate my assignments to my husband so I could get them in on time. It made us bother really mad. I have a schedule when it comes to school, and he is always a distraction - a good one though. Anyhow, we'd pull two chairs up to the desk, He'd find the assignment in the classroom for me, and then I would dictate my answers. I think really really fast, and I type really really fast. My husband, on the other hand, takes information very slow. He'll think it over very carefully. Well, his careful mind and my speedy one did not mesh well. I would dictate to him, and he'd interrupt to ask a bunch of questions, and then he'd type slow and tell me I was talking too fast. Believe me, this is no way to write papers. I'd yell at him that I couldn't control the situation and that the least he could do was keep up, and he'd yell at me and tell me I was being mean .... We did this every assignment until the class was over. It was not conducive to my learning astronomy mind you, but we always made up afterwards and promised we'd try harder not to lose our tempers.

Things were rough for the next few months all together, but I think that whole winter was like living in hell. I'd be in pain, I'd scream and cry all the time because I had no pain killers, and then the nausea came. That was the worst. My family has allergies to anesthetics - remember my tooth drilling? Well, I knew that because of the block and the sleeper stuff that I'd had a lot of anesthetics pumped into me. I took to eating crackers and soda or water all day every day. Any time I tried to eat a regular meal, I'd get sick. I spent an entire two weeks in complete nausea before my husband had a day off and could take me in to see Dr. R. I was miserable, and I knew that she would help.

So, I go in to Dr. R. with my husband. I tell her that I haven't eaten a proper meal since before the hospital, that I've been puking every day and that I've had constant nausea that I can't get rid of. She tells me in her posh British accent that she'll fix me right up, and then says she'll throw in some pain meds. I'm only supposed to take the nausea pills when I feel nauseous, and only take the pain pills when I'm in pain.

Well, I can tell you honestly I took none of those pain pills. I'd gotten so used to nothing working that it wasn't worth it to pump more crap into my body and risk getting sicker. So, I took those anti-nausea pills when I needed to, and they worked. I'd get nauseous, pop the pill, and in about 2 hours, things would be better because it was just the pain then.

I was relegated to doing absolutely nothing all the time. It got boring really fast since I couldn't hold a book open or get comfortable enough to read, I couldn't play my Wii or PS3, I got much too frustrated to use the computer, so I spent most of my days napping and watching movies. It was pretty bad. If I wanted a drink, I had to get my husband. If I wanted a change of clothes, I had to get my husband. If I wanted to move something or I spilled something (which happened a LOT), I had to get my husband. I took to wearing exercise and pajama pants all the time so I didn't have to get him to take me to the bathroom and I only wore tops with bras built in so he never had to put them on and take them off - which would be too difficult with my arm. I think the only things I could really do were open and close doors, put on my house clothes, and carry small objects like my ice pack. It was horrible, demeaning, and just plain annoying.

My husband tried to be supportive and compassionate, but he was either at work, or sleeping. He did take good care of me the few hours he was awake. He wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me for fear of hurting me. When he came home from work in the mornings, he'd make sure I was up before he went to bed. If I wasn't, he'd wait until I was. I told him to stop being silly, but he didn't start sleeping in the same bed with me until I got my cast the day before his parents arrived. He spent 3 weeks like that. I loved him for it even though it was a little protective.

Doing nothing seems like it's not really a big deal, until you lose the use of your dominant arm completely. It was still swollen much too large, but the icing and exercising had helped me regain slight movement in fingers 3, 4, and 5. I couldn't move 1 or 2 still, they sort of twitched when I moved them, but progress was very, very slow and erratic at best.