Being cared for.

This is another August writing prompt provided by WEGO Health.

Share a story about a time you were cared for by someone else. How did that feel? What did you appreciate most and what was the most challenging part? What do you wish your carer knew at the time?

Monday, December 7, 2009. Roughly 48 hours after the exploratory laparotomy. Nausea due to pain medication.

The nurse’s aide simply shoved an emisis basin in my lap and briskly walked out of the room. No gentle touch, no help lifting the basin towards my mouth with my weak hands, nothing.

I needed my mom. But I knew my brother also needed her, a thousand miles away, for help with the infant twin girls.

I thought back to the last time my father saw me in pain and anguish, seemingly a lifetime before when stitches were required to sew up the jagged cut on my forehead. No, I thought to myself, he might not do so well as the painkillers left me in nausea, even if he could be there.

Just as the waves of nausea began to turn into the urge to vomit, in walked the in-laws. They were a source of support throughout the entire crisis and its aftermath, but this was the moment I needed someone most. My mother-in-law became the one with the gentle touch, helping me with the basin, as I suffered through the side effects of all that pain medication.

I never felt I could never adequately express how blessed I was to have them both help me as my own parents were so far away – through the initial surgery and recovery, down the road towards the second surgery, and the emotional fallout from it all.

Part of it is this ongoing notion that somehow I never deserved such outpouring of love and kindness (see also the care package post), from them or from so many who sent well wishes, cards, and flowers during the difficult five months. Part of it is that despite my way with words, I always falter when it comes to say “thank you”. And then of course, a bigger part of it is that last fall, the husband and I began to start down separate paths. The only thing harder than being apart from him, is being apart from the people who were so good to me for so many years (but especially when I most needed it).

Had reality taken us down a different path, perhaps a celebration would have been in order last December 5 to mark a year since the major health crisis. One to thank everyone who showered me with love and kindness; most of all, the in-laws. (Thank you.)