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caregivers need attention
By Robert W. Goldfarb
February 4, 2009
My wife recently was rushed to a hospital in Palm Beach County where we learned she had a bilateral subdural hematoma, "a bleed around
her brain" in laymen's less clinical, more brutal language.
This
article is not about Muriel, who is recovering rapidly from her
craniotomy. It's about how I'll respond in the future to friends who
hurry to the ER as spouse (partner) and leave as caregiver.
I'll never
again ask, "How's your husband doing?" and return uninvolved to my day.
Instead I'll say, "Here's my cell phone number. Call me night or day if
I can help and I'll come at once. I'll be upset if you don't call."
I
won't offer unsolicited advice that only wounds the caregiver: "You
should get a second opinion." Or, "I didn't know this hospital had
neurosurgeons. I hope you checked them out."
When you sit at
your spouse's (partner's) bedside for 15 hours a day, no one has to remind you to
get a second opinion, or a third or a fourth. You exhaust your cell
phone seeking advice from every doctor you know, every friend related
to a doctor.
I'd tell friends, "I'm getting you a turkey
sandwich. Open the door a crack and I'll hand it to you." I'd also say,
"No matter what time it is, call me if you just want to talk." Only two
friends — in distant cities — called to say, "My wife tells me all
about Muriel. But how are you doing?"
If asked, I'd tell the
caregiver their spouse (partner) needs an advocate, someone at their bedside to
say "He hasn't eaten all day. The doctor took him off 'Nothing by
Mouth' yesterday. Please bring him some food." Or, "Why are you
administering morphine? It left him in a fog all day Monday and his
doctor stopped it."
You're the one who must walk to the nurses'
station to request an extra blanket, glass of water or pain medication
when aides don't respond to calls.
If you learn to balance
devotion to your spouse with empathy for overworked nurses, they'll
even bring you someone's uneaten dinner and let you remain past
visiting hours.
You call the doctor's office declaring: "He
hasn't been here all day and I need to speak to him as soon as
possible." Only the sound of a spouse's voice will convey to the
receptionist that "This is a call you'd better return."
Fifteen
hours at a bedside are draining, but without you, your spouse (partner) is "the
one in room 710," not the beloved who gives your life meaning lying
alone in a hospital bed.
Robert W. Goldfarb lives in Boca Raton.
(I added the word partner as this is advice to you to give ANY caregiver!!!)