Don't Leave Home Without One
7/21/2009
Don’t Leave Home Without One.
When my husband and I were first married 22 years ago, he shared so many daily suggestions with me about how he thought I could manage the household better or organize my time better, or manage the children better, that I finally came to the end of my tether and decided to put him on a limit. It wasn’t that they weren’t good suggestions, many of them were, it was just that I found my ability to listen diminished as the number of suggestions increased.
“Three” I told him one night at dinner.
Three what?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“Three tips for daily living is all I can deal with on one day. After that I’m going to have to ask you to suffer in silence.”
His nod with a smile was the only silent assent I needed.
Now you just might find yourself thinking, that’s mildly interesting but what does that have to do with anything? Well, let me explain.
One of his suggestions on how to manage my “crappy diagnoses” was to ask me to keep a record of my cardiac drugs and how they affected me. A physics major by education and Sr. Vice President by achievement my husband has never met a flow sheet, chart, or graph he didn’t like.
I have personally witnessed this rather spectacular ability that he has to sit in his office for hours-on-end marking up contracts and/or proposals that come to him for his comments and suggestions. He is, in short, in love with fine print. While I, on the other hand, have always tended to look for the bigger picture and in the interest of total honesty, I feel I must tell you, I actually felt a certain thrill when they finally brought Cliff Notes for the Literary Classics into bookstores. I am not, however, here to discuss the relative merits of how opposites attract much less stay married but I do think you need to have some background so that you won’t be offended when I tell you that I now have a new name for husband: The Medical Nazi.
For the past few weeks he has dutifully drawn up flow sheets with columns for all my cardiac drugs, their dosages, when they’re to be taken, and a special side space for any additional comments I might have. He also has added extra columns for my blood pressure and pulse morning and night. Now, if he’d just drawn up the flow sheets and handed them over to me to fill in the missing blanks that would’ve been fine but that is not what he did ...oh no...
First he handed them over to me, then we sat down together, much like you would for a class project, and went over them column by column. He wanted to be sure that I understood “everything.” The word tedious comes to mind but I dutifully paid attention for I knew one thing was for certain, he would be asking questions later.
Even now with my failing heart, I know that he did all of this because he loved me. I also know that he did this because it was his way of having some control over a situation over which he had very little, if any, control.
And so, for weeks now I’ve been dutifully filling in the blanks and making comments. When I ran out of paper (AKA graphs, AKA flow sheets) he was always there to make sure I’d filled in the appropriate spaces before he gave me a new one. When I told him I felt too lighted headed to write or the drugs had left me feeling whipped or my extra thuds were making me nervous, his answer was always the same, “Write it down.”
So, that brings me to July and the visit with the UCLA cardiologist. My husband has now decided to go with me on every visit. When I protest his answer is always the same, “ Doesn’t matter. You went the first time alone and got tough news to handle. From now on I’m going with you.” Secretly, I have seen him put the flow sheets in a folder and I know him. He’s going to wait until just the right moment and then he’s going to whip them out for the cardiologist to admire. My husband knows this academic territory and much like a small school boy he’s on a quest: he’s gone looking for the teacher’s approval. He doesn’t have long to wait.
The cardiologist asked us to come in and have a seat. The office is small and very clinical but again she is warm and engaging. Her white lab coat is oversized for her small frame and I marvel at her ability and skill to put others at ease in such difficult circumstances.
“Well,” she says as she glances back and forth between the two of us. “How has everything been going?”
I watched as my husband opened up file folder he just happened to have in his hand and listened as he said, “I thought it would be helpful to see how my wife’s numbers have been looking since our last visit and in addition to the numbers on the flow sheet I have graphed out the last two months so you can get a better idea of where we’ve been and where we are now.”
The big pay-off came for my husband in a big way. The cardiologist smiled broadly as she reached for the folder and said, “This is so helpful. Thank you so much for doing this. It makes my job so much easier.” My husband returned the doctor’s smile. At last he had an audience who truly appreciated his gifting.
By the end of the visit we had a plan. The cardiologist looked happy with “my cardiac numbers.” My husband looked happy. His contribution has been dutifully noted. And, I was, if not happy, at least somewhat relieved. It appears that the drugs are having some positive effect.
My young doctor stood up and extended her hand. “We’ll know more when they repeat the Echogram in October. You’re ejection fraction has got to come up, but if you keep bringing me those great flow sheets I think you should feel encouraged.” Handshakes and smiles all around.
I still have my “crappy diagnoses” of course and how love works it’s way out is different for every family, but over these past few months I’ve become a believer. Now, here is what I think, at least when it comes to Medical Nazi’s, if you should happen to have the misfortune of courting a serious illness: “Don’t leave home without one.”
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Posted 7/21/2009 in Misc | |
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