If I were the fairy godmother for caregivers, I would have the power to wave my magic wand over those tired, stressed out, worn out, burned out humans whose lives are rarely their own anymore. And as my wand sprinkled fairy dust, my people would recover themselves again-- back to normal-- back to feeling refreshed and vibrant-- back to good sleep and exercise and time for meal planning and healthy eating. This would be amazing; although, unfortunately, this is not the actual reality for caregiving. However, autumn’s arrival signifies rest for nature, leaves falling from their branches, plants taking a nice respite from growth until the spring, and our local black bears getting fat for their long winter’s nap.
My husband is a paraplegic whose spinal cord injury occurred thirty years ago. He has been super active since his injury, first learning to downhill mountain bike, which led to downhill skiing, handcycling, waterskiing, and so much more. Now a professional skier for close to 20 years, Geoff is used to getting in and out of his mono ski as it is part of his daily winter routine. But on January 31, he slipped on some ice getting out of his ski and back into his wheelchair. When he landed on his elbow, the impact tore his tricep tendon off his elbow, resulting in surgery, something like 28 staples, and months without the use of his arm.
Now, we know a lot about spinal cord injuries and the importance of protecting one’s body during transfers, etc---but nothing could have prepared us for this utter lack of mobility. Transferring him with the help of our teenagers was far too dangerous, and we are lucky no one was injured. Our surgeon was good and tried to understand his SCI injury and how he needed both his arms to move the rest of his body, but the reality is that Geoff needed to go to a rehab facility.
Our wonderful friends, Roy and Rob, came to the house his first night after surgery and witnessed first-hand the actual situation. Then they drove to pick up an ancient hoyer lift that Geoff’s Eastern Adaptive Sports program sometimes had to use to lift people from point A to point B. This adaptive device saved us until we could get him into a rehab facility. There, with the help of OTs and PTs he learned, in a safe environment, what he would need to re-learn how to transfer safely once at home again as he slowly healed and regained strength.
Challenges, and helpers, have been a constant. People brought us dinner. A friend plowed our driveway, as it seemed to literally snow every other day during the month we were such a mess. Geoff could not drive for months, even when he could have returned to light duty at work, which increased our financial stress. When our daughter made the equivalent for U14 Nationals, called Can-Ams, our Loon Race Team family took up a “travel” collection -- and I cried openly when a fellow mom gave me a hug along with the gift of understanding true fatigue that day in the driveway before we left for Canada.
Slowly, Geoff is regaining the strength he had before this recent accident. But the toll is not only on him-- it’s on our entire family. Limited mobility is one thing as a caregiver, but I have an entirely new appreciation for zero mobility. We probably could have asked for more help. Our kids certainly learned a lot, but parenting is always a challenge, especially when more effort is needed from everyone. But we have a greater appreciation for mobility challenges and are fortunate he has regained the use of both arms. The lift is finally being installed on his truck in October, nine months after his accident. A reminder that patience is part of healing-- for all of us.