A stitch in time
"Unbelievable." That's what we heard through the bathroom door early this evening as Gilly emerged from his first full fleged shower since being admitted to Emergency on the day of that fateful MRI. His stitches were removed this afternoon at the CLSC, and so he immediately took full advantage of his newfound freedom.
If you ask Gilly how he's doing on any given day, he replies, "Better. Much, much better. It's been rough though." It's a well rehearsed response. He seemingly perceives himself as continually getting better, or perhaps just prefers to present himself as such.
He hasn't lost his smile, especially in response to a friendly voice or kind gesture. Even in the hospital, on his first wobbly walk down the hall with the physiotherapist, he stopped to smile at the nurses as they walked by, even though it threw him totally off balance. "Look ahead," she would say, but his head inevitably turned to greet each nurse, followed by a warm smile . I explained to her that this is Gilly's nature, and he'd be just as likely to smile at a male passerby. I'm quite certain that she was not at all convinced.
Gilly worries a lot these days about his unfinished work (engines in faraway places awaiting Gilly's midas touch, bricks to be grouted and kitchen cupboards on the verge of creation). He often voices how much he wishes he could be more useful. All of our married life, I have never had to wait for an offer from Gilly to help out with whatever job was at hand (24 magical years this August). "Do you need my help?" he'd ask, more than just frequently. I would never become a member of the complaining wives club, that's for sure. He has always well surpassed the term 'useful', not to mention generous, and giving of himself out of pure goodness.
My mission now is to help Gilly find, develop and / or accept the challenge of short, constructive projects he can succeed at independently. He continues to have trouble with his eyes, and his coordination is still only slightly improved, but I strongly believe that he can still accomplish more than he realizes. The nature of the 'project(s)' is still a mystery, but I'm thinking....
Hearing (particularly in one ear) is still difficult, especially when there is ambient noise, but thankfully Gilly is beginning to enjoy music again. Nothing like music to soothe the soul. He watches a bit of television, but has trouble following the content and picture.
The social worker at the CLSC is currently investigating what the health system can offer Gilly to support him in coming to terms with the emotional and physical challenges he is faced with.
So how are we doing? The best we can, under the circumstances. Tremendous support from near and far makes all the difference. We're counting on time, knowledge and loads of love to help heal both body and soul.
Our health system needs a good 'tweeking,' I've discovered. "How did you manage to fix it?" my mother often asked Gilly over the years when he miraculously managed to make something work (like when he performed bipass surgery on the microwave oven; still working by the way after umpteen years). He'd answer, "I just gave it a kvetch." Well, we may have to kvetch the health system to get some action, and so we will. We'll do whatever it takes, and then some.
If you ask Gilly how he's doing on any given day, he replies, "Better. Much, much better. It's been rough though." It's a well rehearsed response. He seemingly perceives himself as continually getting better, or perhaps just prefers to present himself as such.
He hasn't lost his smile, especially in response to a friendly voice or kind gesture. Even in the hospital, on his first wobbly walk down the hall with the physiotherapist, he stopped to smile at the nurses as they walked by, even though it threw him totally off balance. "Look ahead," she would say, but his head inevitably turned to greet each nurse, followed by a warm smile . I explained to her that this is Gilly's nature, and he'd be just as likely to smile at a male passerby. I'm quite certain that she was not at all convinced.
Gilly worries a lot these days about his unfinished work (engines in faraway places awaiting Gilly's midas touch, bricks to be grouted and kitchen cupboards on the verge of creation). He often voices how much he wishes he could be more useful. All of our married life, I have never had to wait for an offer from Gilly to help out with whatever job was at hand (24 magical years this August). "Do you need my help?" he'd ask, more than just frequently. I would never become a member of the complaining wives club, that's for sure. He has always well surpassed the term 'useful', not to mention generous, and giving of himself out of pure goodness.
My mission now is to help Gilly find, develop and / or accept the challenge of short, constructive projects he can succeed at independently. He continues to have trouble with his eyes, and his coordination is still only slightly improved, but I strongly believe that he can still accomplish more than he realizes. The nature of the 'project(s)' is still a mystery, but I'm thinking....
Hearing (particularly in one ear) is still difficult, especially when there is ambient noise, but thankfully Gilly is beginning to enjoy music again. Nothing like music to soothe the soul. He watches a bit of television, but has trouble following the content and picture.
The social worker at the CLSC is currently investigating what the health system can offer Gilly to support him in coming to terms with the emotional and physical challenges he is faced with.
So how are we doing? The best we can, under the circumstances. Tremendous support from near and far makes all the difference. We're counting on time, knowledge and loads of love to help heal both body and soul.
Our health system needs a good 'tweeking,' I've discovered. "How did you manage to fix it?" my mother often asked Gilly over the years when he miraculously managed to make something work (like when he performed bipass surgery on the microwave oven; still working by the way after umpteen years). He'd answer, "I just gave it a kvetch." Well, we may have to kvetch the health system to get some action, and so we will. We'll do whatever it takes, and then some.
posted by Gilly at 8:17 PM
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"Good Shabbos"
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