The Bear who knows me - and loves me anyway.
As those of you who follow this blog or are either close personal friends or friends via Facebook are aware, I broke my wrist in late November. The right one. The dominant one. The one I have used all my life ... and taken for granted. Suddenly out of commission. Broken. In a cast. Painful. Very painful.
In the instant I fell out of the bathtub that day (yes, you read right: OUT of the bathtub landing on my wrist), my life changed - at least for the duration.
I was already struggling with all my other issues which included further re-traumatization and the death of a close loved one. Grief. Complicated by others' issues. For a period of time, I felt like I was getting dumped on.
Predictably, my body reacted in it's now usual manner. Extreme fatigue. Weakness. Lack of coordination and balance. Cognitive problems. Feeling overwhelmed. Lack of energy. Lack of interest. Etc.
Cooking - even before I broke my wrist - was beyond me. Papa Bear and I struggled by on the things he can cook and frozen entrees from different food chains. Bagged salads. Even peeling and cooking vegetables was beyond me. And my ever lovin', long-sufferin' Papa Bear encouraged - and pampered - me all the way.
I had just begun to be able to prepare a simple meal - and I do mean simple - when Voila! down I went! This time literally. Out of the bathtub. I went right back to being almost completely disabled, this time physically. Accompanied by pain. Lots of pain. For more than two months. Even when the cast came off, the pain stayed with me. An ever constant, debilitating companion. The main constant in my life during all this saga has been - you guessed it! - Papa Bear.
This is where my ever lovin' spouse showed how strong his love for me is. When I was down for the cast, either physically or emotionally, Papa Bear took over. Perhaps mumbling, grumbling and growling at times. But he took over. He washed dishes - by hand since he and the dishwasher seem to have an agreement that he only empties, never fills. He made the bed. He dressed me when the pain prevented me from dressing myself. He swept. He vacuumed. He drove me places. My own personal sherpa. You name it, he did it. He did, however, draw the line at shampooing hair or personal care, but found other ways around these obstacles. All the time he was working a full-time job - in addition to being a full-time caregiver.
An unsung hero in the litany of life. But a hero nonetheless. My hero
Thank you for sticking with me, Papa Bear. I love you.