Words necessary, difficult, and becoming common: ‘I need your help’
To ask for help is to abandon our dearly-held myth of self-sufficiency. We sacrifice ego and at least some of our privacy when we admit to someone else, “I just can’t do this by myself.”
But I said that twice last week.
Another fall
The first time was Thursday afternoon. I was bringing Evelyn home from the hospital. She had fallen—again. Because she was on a blood thinner and because she bumped her head, I bundled us up and went to the ER after she fell Wednesday at 10 p.m.
A bruise on her forehead sent the doctors into full trauma-treatment mode, leading them to X-ray her whole body, resulting in the discovery that she had broken two ribs. Two more ribs, that is. She had broken five other ribs and suffered a collapsed lung as a result of another fall just 5 weeks earlier. (Her head was fine, by the way.)
The doctors wanted to admit her to monitor for internal bleeding, but every bed in the hospital was full. So they wheeled her into an exam room where the nurse assured me, “She won’t be getting a room tonight. You might as well go home.”
Short night
I was in my own bed by about 2:00 a.m. and back at the hospital by 8:00. I had naively thought they would run a test and send her home soon. But the hospital was working beyond capacity, with ER patients lining the hallways because every exam room was full, too. “Soon” has a different meaning in such circumstances.
Throughout the long day, Evelyn was attached to monitors and confined to bed. I tried to entertain her with breakfast, my phone, and daytime TV game shows. But she fidgeted and thrashed, turning her sheets and blankets into a tumbled tangle. Sitting in the room’s lone straight-backed chair, I leaned my head against the wall and dozed off, only to awake with a start and find her trying to slide out the bottom of the bed.
Welcome offer
By the time we were headed home about 3:00 p.m., I was exhausted. I had texted our friend Cindi to tell her not to come for her usual Friday-morning visit while I served at the Healing Center because I would be staying home this week. She offered to stop by the hospital and stay awhile with Evelyn so I could go home to rest.
“We’re both on the way home now,” I wrote her. “Frankly, it would be wonderful if you would come to our house instead, so I could take a nap.”
She was there in 20 minutes, and I retreated to the bedroom. She tended to Evelyn and called her husband to ask him to bring pizza for supper. No angels of mercy ever offered help more needed—or appreciated.
Except for Jan, that is, who came two days later when once again I couldn’t cope alone.
Please come!
As if our hospital ordeal weren’t enough, I got sick with some sort of intestinal bug Friday night. I was back and forth to the bathroom starting at 3:00 a.m. and fell into a fitful sleep till 9:00. I woke and looked over at Evelyn to see her smiling at me, patiently waiting for me to help her out of bed.
I put my feet on the floor to walk to her side, but by the time I reached her, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stand, let alone steady her. Every last ounce of energy had been drained from my body, but the day with all its duties was just beginning. Somehow, as if in slow motion, I helped her in and out of the bathroom, ground her morning pills into a dish of yogurt, got her settled, and collapsed into the nearby recliner.
I called Evelyn’s decades-long friend Jan to ask if she could come. She forgot about her plans for the day and arrived in time to fix lunch for Evelyn. (I wasn’t eating.)
She brought ginger candy to settle my stomach and ginger ale and instant noodle soup. I went to bed and slept hard for almost four hours.
Meanwhile, Jan hemmed a garment for Evelyn, used her carpet cleaner from home to attack some spots in our living room, helped Evelyn with her physical therapy exercises, and generally kept her eye on her so she wouldn’t fall again. She offered to fix supper, too, and I let her.
No choice
As she was leaving, close to 8:00 p.m. she said to me, “I’m proud of you. I think you’ve finally put aside any embarrassment at asking for help.”
Well, when you’re drowning, you’re not remembering your pride, I thought later.
My head is above water now, but I feel as though I’m paddling hard to stay afloat. I’m almost ready to seek more help than even these dear friends can provide
Photos by ChiccoDodiFC and Wavebreakmedia at istockphoto.com