The Luckiest Man (and Woman) in the World
My husband and I were at the doctor’s office this past Valentine's Day. A nurse asked what I had been given for the special day. She was a bit surprised at my response.
"Nothing. I’m diabetic so no candy. I don’t like roses and I don’t need any more jewelry. Jewelry really wouldn’t be practical any longer. Mostly homebound now, where would I wear it?"
Make a reservation at a romantic hotel complete with heart-shaped tub, champagne, and strawberries? My meds keep me from drinking champagne, my balance issues would likely make it nearly impossible to climb into the tub without drowning and I can eat strawberries safely at home.
Out dancing? Hard to slow dance with a walker between us.
She seemed sad hearing my response but told my husband he’s lucky, he gets off easily. There wasn’t enough time to tell her about the Valentine’s gifts he gives me every day.
I never have to struggle to get out of bed. I have a button that connects to a remote doorbell in his room.
He respects my privacy when I shower but stands close-by outside the door to hear me if I need him. Showers exhaust me with my struggles with balance, even with the help of a shower chair. But he is ready to help with pants and shoes.
My daily assistant
I’m diabetic. He’s there to help with my insulin injections. If my glucose level is too low before a meal, he makes the meal while I keep from being too active and thus reducing the levels further.
I have difficulty grasping pills. After too many times of clumsily dropping them, he’s in charge of giving them to me, sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. If he must be gone overnight, the pills are set in separate, labeled, easy open pill bottles.
He has become an able assistant while I make dinner. And he’s always ready to catch the plate or bowl that is about to drop because of my tremors. Since dinnertime is often a difficult time of day for me, he clears the table.
His Valentine's gift
I can’t walk outside with my hyper Yorkie, referred as a "mama’s boy" while using a walker. My husband walks him and, when he must go to his office, he takes the dog, now the office mascot, with him. When he’s going to be gone overnight, the Yorkie is boarded.
I don't drive. When I need to ride in the car, he helps hoist me into the passenger seat and fastens my seatbelt.
Without sounding "sappy", every day is like a Valentine’s Day gift from him. He gave me a lovely card on Valentine’s Day. Since I don’t get to a Walgreens and Amazon won’t send just a single card, I sent him a musical card. He received his gift when I printed out this essay and gave it to him.
Have you or a loved one ever tried speech therapy?