Dignity Deferred

First it was David. Then there was Phil, Jose, MaryAnn, Nicole, Lisa, Presca, Jenner, and Leslie. Oh, and Deanna, Liane, Bernard, Michele, Debbie, and Kesha.

Each is a member of the extensive and still growing personal care team handling my personal - well - care for my newly re-enfeebled self when I showed up at The Home this week for recovery from surgery. 

This wasn’t the plan. I was recovering nicely from the hip replacement when suddenly my Achilles decided it needed to snap. My goal was a quick repair, and hobbling around in a boot for a few weeks before resuming normal life.

But a week ago, the ankle/foot orthopedic specialist confirmed what I had hoped Google had exaggerated. I needed surgery on that snapped Achilles tendon and that would involve six weeks of no weight-bearing on that leg, not to mention the first 10 days of leg elevation for 21 hours per day. Then there will be six more weeks with a lovely boot and crutches or cane hobbling. 

That threw us into a tail spin. We love our 120 year old home. Everything about it. In fact a couple of years ago, we’d redone the back of the house so it would be easier to transform into single level living when we would need more assistance with everyday life. 

It never occurred that we’d need that single level living now. Sure, the stairs had been a bit of a challenge as I waited for the hip replacement surgery earlier this year. But the stairs remained manageable…and just when I managed to walk up and down like a normal human - left, right, left, right - the snapped Achilles pushed me backwards.

Just imagining hopping up those higher than normal stairs? Well - the doctor assured me that he had patients that just scooted up and down stairs on their backside. That too elicited an eye roll. Great - I would be at the top of the stairs, and I still had to stand up on one leg. 

So we went to work seeking a temporary location with lots of support to make recovery possible for our aging selves. Fortunately, Minnesota is a state known for its excellence in health care - and with some extraordinary advocacy from the surgeon’s team, we left the surgery center on Monday for a transitional care unit with plenty of support to teach me hopping and scooting skills to survive the next three months.

What I wasn’t ready for was the immediate loss of autonomy when I was wheeled into a room post surgery. Apparently TCUs are one of the most heavily regulated types of facilities in this country and with attorneys being as risk averse as most are, boy, are there rules. 

I can’t even “self-administer” vitamins while here…unless I get a doctor’s order. And getting out of the bed, transferring to a chair, much less going on my own to the restroom - all require assistance to ensure no falls. Toileting has become a new action verb in my vocabulary. 

Don’t get me wrong. I get it. If I had seen myself hopping or pivoting pathetically on one leg, I’d be worried too. 

So many people - strangers all - albeit compassionate caregivers - have now seen every part of this aging body. And I mean all the parts. Even recognizing that I once was the age when my swim suits covered significantly little corporeal real estate, this involves putting personal dignity on the shelf for awhile. 

My son reminds me that this experience will provide plenty of content - and oh, he is right! Stay tuned for more notes from The Home, as I upgrade hopping and strength skills for maneuvering life in our old house as soon as possible.