How goes the battle of the broken ankle?
How goes the battle?
Well, the pillow plumping is finis, over, kaput. Family members can keep up the good works only so long, and anything past three weeks is too long. How unfortunate that after three weeks on crutches to protect a broken ankle, the other leg begins to yell, “What about me, Randy?” “Share that cold pack of peas and corn with me,” screams the right knee to the left ankle. " I need an icing down, too.” And just when the going gets tougher, the toughs slip and slide out of sight. Burnout big time comes for family members. And the funny thing is, the patient becomes lots less patient and irritability comes in like gang busters on the heels of frustration. (Pun intended.) Anger simply bounces around the place from caretaker to patient and back again. In short: it gets ugly.
Thank goodness for great friends. They continue to call, especially those who too, have worn the big blue boot, and rode the four-wheeled chariot with foot pads. The mailman brought a box yesterday which the big brown dog sniffed with great pleasure. Inside were two fruitcake tins filled to the brim with homemade chocolate chip cookies, sent from some 1000 miles away, and simply the answer to a family’s prayer for deliverance from the B A. (Sometimes referred to as ‘Bad Atmosphere,’ ‘ Bummed Attitude,’ or more commonly ‘the Black Ass.’)
The packing of those cookies itself was a thing of beauty. No doubt “Wrapper Bob” had received such a gift in long ago days, and remembered the taste of the morsels eaten from tin to tongue, and thus had carefully packaged these beauties so well that not one among them was broken. The gift could have been gold, frankincense and myrrh, or so it seemed to me. It was the pillow plumping that I had been missing and had been seeking these past few days. And it arrived just in time to quell the household anger in the form of the edible delight. The diet be damned, the cookies were for the soul as well as the body.
The only directions I received with the kind gift from the sender, was a promise to give the big brown dog a cookie now and again, and to share with the caretakers. I do both faithfully, especially sharing a piece of each cookie with the dog who has yet to leave my side in three weeks time. Woman’s best friend she has proved to be. And the caretakers need to come to the sight of the cache to claim their share, and I snare them into a “Will you bring me…?” Brilliant!
So: Be good to the disabled, even those for whom the condition is only temporary. For in the end, they will be as faithful as the big brown dog, and will never forget the kindness. I’m not sure about the leg licks though, that’s not in my repertoire.
Well, the pillow plumping is finis, over, kaput. Family members can keep up the good works only so long, and anything past three weeks is too long. How unfortunate that after three weeks on crutches to protect a broken ankle, the other leg begins to yell, “What about me, Randy?” “Share that cold pack of peas and corn with me,” screams the right knee to the left ankle. " I need an icing down, too.” And just when the going gets tougher, the toughs slip and slide out of sight. Burnout big time comes for family members. And the funny thing is, the patient becomes lots less patient and irritability comes in like gang busters on the heels of frustration. (Pun intended.) Anger simply bounces around the place from caretaker to patient and back again. In short: it gets ugly.
Thank goodness for great friends. They continue to call, especially those who too, have worn the big blue boot, and rode the four-wheeled chariot with foot pads. The mailman brought a box yesterday which the big brown dog sniffed with great pleasure. Inside were two fruitcake tins filled to the brim with homemade chocolate chip cookies, sent from some 1000 miles away, and simply the answer to a family’s prayer for deliverance from the B A. (Sometimes referred to as ‘Bad Atmosphere,’ ‘ Bummed Attitude,’ or more commonly ‘the Black Ass.’)
The packing of those cookies itself was a thing of beauty. No doubt “Wrapper Bob” had received such a gift in long ago days, and remembered the taste of the morsels eaten from tin to tongue, and thus had carefully packaged these beauties so well that not one among them was broken. The gift could have been gold, frankincense and myrrh, or so it seemed to me. It was the pillow plumping that I had been missing and had been seeking these past few days. And it arrived just in time to quell the household anger in the form of the edible delight. The diet be damned, the cookies were for the soul as well as the body.
The only directions I received with the kind gift from the sender, was a promise to give the big brown dog a cookie now and again, and to share with the caretakers. I do both faithfully, especially sharing a piece of each cookie with the dog who has yet to leave my side in three weeks time. Woman’s best friend she has proved to be. And the caretakers need to come to the sight of the cache to claim their share, and I snare them into a “Will you bring me…?” Brilliant!
So: Be good to the disabled, even those for whom the condition is only temporary. For in the end, they will be as faithful as the big brown dog, and will never forget the kindness. I’m not sure about the leg licks though, that’s not in my repertoire.
posted by Lucy and Annie | 8:59 AM
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