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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Front Porch: It can take a crew to recover from surgery

A few weeks ago, when Bruce was in the hospital getting prepped for surgery, he looked over at us and told the pre-op nurse that our son Carl and I were there as his support crew.

Then he asked her, “What do people do who don’t have a crew?”

We’d been getting ready for this total shoulder replacement procedure since last spring. Pain and decreased mobility had made the very physical work that he does even more difficult, so it was time. The surgeon told us afterward that it was, in fact, well past time.

We planned it for November because this is the month that his business, while not disappearing completely, drops off considerably, allowing him the winter months to recover and be ready to hit it when the season cranks up again in early spring. In consultation with our sons, we all agreed our oldest son would come to help me take care of his father post-op.

This is the time of year that our son normally comes home for a visit (he works overseas), and since he can work remotely, it made sense for him to be the hands-on guy. He is also able to do some of Bruce’s jobs that need to be done in the off-season, so it appeared to be a good plan.

And it’s turned out to be one.

As everyone who has been involved setting up a medical procedure and the aftercare for a loved one knows, there are quite a few logistics to get through. Tests, clearances from other physicians, bringing in supplies and making plans to cover those regular-life events that still go on, even when you’re laid up.

One (among many) of the glitches we experienced was the possible last-minute need to postpone the surgery for two or four weeks. Carl had planned his arrival for just a day or two before surgery so as to maximize the time he could be on hand to help. We didn’t know if we’d know in time to wave him off.

But, with a lot of running around and some frantic phoning and appointment scheduling and changing, the operation took place at the time and place originally marked on the calendar. And, so far, so good.

The surgery was on his right shoulder, so my right-handed husband is now adapting to life as a left-hander. He needs to keep his right arm in a sling, which is strapped down to his chest, for six weeks, and we’re about halfway through that part of his recovery. I’ve been cooking mostly soft foods, which he can manage with just a fork or spoon, and for the few things that require a knife, he doesn’t balk when I cut up the items on his plate.

I must say, he is a very kind and understanding patient, though he does try to do most everything himself, as I would expect he would. But he’s not so set in his ways that he won’t accept help when he needs it. Or when I emphatically tell him he’s going to get it anyhow.

We’ve figured out the shower drill and all the other workarounds that come along with suddenly being a temporarily one-armed man in post-op condition. Carl has done most of the heavy lifting around the house and has taken charge of the arm exercises, which I appreciate. Our younger son sends notes and pictures from Seattle to entertain his Dad, along with phone calls, and I update him daily.

We are a team, each doing our part to help this man that we love go through this surgery and get back on his feet again, and make the best progress possible so he can get back to work and to his regular life in the best shape he can.

We are happy to be his crew.

But back to Bruce’s question to the nurse: What do people do without a crew?

She told him she sees lots of patients who don’t have anyone, or at least anyone who can be there with them through the surgery or afterward, who have to endure, to handle it, to recover from it – without the emotional or physical support of friends or family.

She said it’s a sad thing indeed. I’ve been thinking of that these past weeks.

Today is Thanksgiving. I am thankful that I can be a member of the crew and for the knowledge that this crew will be there for me, too, should the need arise.

On this day especially, I wish for everyone a loving and caring crew. It makes all the difference in facing any kind of adversity … and in recovering from it.

Voices correspondent Stefanie Pettit can be reached by e-mail at upwindsailor@comcast.net.