After seven days, Dr. M cleared Gaye to come home. We could hardly wait. Still, Gaye made a point of speaking with every member of her care team to thank them. Even after vascular issues led to clots that cost her Dr. M’s reconstructed breasts, even after other nurses’ disregard almost cost her her life, Gaye was still thankful.
She shared the gift bags of Tony Moly facial masks (that she had planned to share with her sisters) with the nurses who cared for her. Gaye also got names for letters to the CNO as well as contact info for written thanks. Finally, we had our drain logs, care instructions, and it was time to leave.
It’s easy to get caught up in anger, (me) resentment, (also me), and determination for a reckoning, (me, again). But that doesn’t get your loved one home. That doesn’t make her comfortable. It damn-sure doesn’t contribute to her recovery.
The nurses’ aide told me to get my car from the valet and call her once they brought it down. As difficult as it may be to believe, I can follow basic instructions. In less than twenty-minutes, I had Gaye loaded up and we were on her way.
Gaye’s planning paid off in comfort, convenience, and care for both us. Her braids meant she didn’t have to worry with her hair. That may sound shallow but I promise you that even in a hospital, you’re treated how you look. The rising recliner made sitting and standing easier when she could use neither abdominal nor chest muscles. The booster-seat for the toilet made for a safer potty experience. A fridge full of favorite foods meant we were provisioned.
All to the good. Because the elevator ride, the ride home, and the shuffle inside wiped Gaye out. She managed to eat half-a-bowl-of-soup, one dumpling, and half an eggroll.
She slept right up until the time for me to empty her drains.
About those drains…
You’ll have to empty them. Then you’ll have to log the volume of fluid that the drain has pulled off of the wound. The nurses will give you a tutorial but they only teach as far as you listen. It’s really a good idea for you to start emptying the drains at the hospital to get used to the process while you’re still under adult supervision.
You’ll learn tricks like using safety pins to secure the lines to your loved one’s gown. That way the lines don’t catch on furniture, tangle in bedding, or worse, pull on your loved one’s body. She’s in enough pain without that.
The log the hospital gave us was one-size-fits-all form, which means it made no sense and didn’t have enough spaces for all the drains. Gaye had six lines, pulling fluid from her chest (two on each side) and abdominal (one on each side). Thankfully, Dr. M’s physician’s assistant had already warned us and gave us an alternative plan—a simple sheet of paper with four-hour intervals, L 1-3, R 1-3.
Of course, as an accountant, I had to make it more difficult than necessary—and then put in Excel. The process is simple enough: disconnect the soft-plastic hand-grenade shaped bottle from the line. You squeeze the bottle into a specimen cup that gives the approximate volume of fluid. Then you compress the empty bottle and while crumpled, you reattach it to the line.
It’s best if you have a specimen cup for each line. Once you have drained/reattached each bottle, then record the amounts on your log. Empty the bottles, rinse out the cups and place them on a towel to drain.
Do this every time. You want to be ready for the next drain. You want to minimize her discomfort. You don’t want to be juggling cups and towels and log sheets.
We sent the drain reports to Dr. M’s PA.
This all sounds very sanitary and detached it is because there is no describing how weak Gaye was when I brought her home. How often she woke whimpering in pain. How she was in turns relieved to be home and then despondent over the outcome of her surgery.
Brass tacks
This last part is the hardest—giving her the space to be human. As your loved one’s primary caregiver, you will empty drains, you will change bedding, you will wipe her butt. And then she will tell you she doesn’t want you to help her bathe, doesn’t want your help with her bandages, doesn’t want you to see her suture line. She will tell you that you can go find someone else. That she releases you from your marital vows. She will snap and her words will cut. But it’s not you she’s snapping at. She will cry from exhaustion, frustration, and because she can’t get her words out.
Give her space
She needs the space to cry, to be angry at cancer/surgical outcomes/weakness. And then she needs to know you will be there. She needs to see “everything will be alright” in action. Not macho-man action, not big-money gestures action. Do laundry. Keep the kitchen clean. Pick up. Don’t let her see the house look like it should be condemned.
Space is more than a concept
Respect her boundaries. Gaye didn’t want me to help her bathe. Our neighbor, Dawn, came to the house every day—after a full nursing shift—to help Gaye. Again, she kept Gaye’s eyes off of the suture line where her breasts had been. She teased Gaye about her different PJs every day, gossiped about the retired nurse down the block who was determined to come help…even as she herself recovered from her own, numerous, health issues.
Give her space to watch the shows you don’t like. Even with a kitchen full of food, go get her favorite snack (even if it’s something you don’t care for) to give her alone-time.
Give her room to feel her pain, fear, and despair.
But don’t leave her there. Bring her back with conversation and little plans. Give her something to look forward to, even if it’s just a drive while you run errands. You’re the bungie cord. You let her get low and then you pull her back up.
You are, as Kurt Vonnegut wrote, a nation of two. Never lose sight of that and do not let cancer kill your loved one or your relationship.
Key takeaways:
- Good results or bad, your goal is to get your loved one home
- Even when the surgery is successful, everything has changed
- Gratitude is key to healing, so is grief
- You MUST be a constant when everything has changed
- None of it is directed at you, cancer is the enemy
- Let her feel what she feels, then bring her back home
Stay positive, stay strong.
The photo at the top belongs to the author.
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