I need a collective shoulder to cry on. Well…not really to cry on, but to lean on for emotional support, and I’ve chosen you, who will read this. You’re welcome.

About four weeks ago, Nancy awoke one morning with intense pain in her right knee. She tried to shake it off, but the pain not only persisted but got more intense to the point that walking became an impossible task. Thus started a journey I wasn’t fully prepared for.

Throughout our 30+ years of marriage, I’ve been hospitalized for falls, illness, surgeries, and a cardiac arrest. A couple of those falls kept me off my feet for a brief span. One surgery landed me in my recliner for three months, where I slept, ate, read several books, wrote, and watched too much mindnumbing television. Three bouts with sepsis resulted in three separate weeks in hospitals, including a hospital in Colorado.

During those hospital stays, she remained at my

CORNER

side, eating and sleeping in the room with me. The cardiac arrest put me in the hospital for four days, then I had limited activity for several weeks upon returning home.

Throughout those same 30+ years, Nancy has only been sidelined, maybe 3 times, including her present injury. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who drew the short straw. My point is this. She has been tasked with caring for me much, much more than I have for her. Even during one of those medical timeouts, her doctor allowed her to use crutches. Within three days after a surgical repair, she was back, enduring as much activity as her impairment would allow, ignoring my objections.

This time, pain has forced her to accept me doing more for her than I’ve ever done. I’ve had the opportunity, YES, opportunity to cook, clean, and generally wait on her, catering to her every need. I do, however, draw a line at giving her a bell to ring. She’s not allowed to call me “Cheeves.” (A name usually associated with a butler.) She must use a walker and is facing knee replacement surgery.

Here’s my complaint. She’s the worst patient ever. It’s easier to herd a hundred kittens than to gain her compliance with her care. She won’t take the pain medication prescribed for her. When she does take pain meds, it’s Tylenol, and then only one.

In her defense, she has eaten all that I’ve prepared and not complained, gagged, or “up-chucked.” She’s even shown perplexed amazement at a couple of meals that I’ve made. Boiling eggs can be more difficult than you may think. Don’t get me started on scrambling eggs. TV dinners are a Godsend. Following the instructions on the back IS necessary, and not an option as I once thought. One of my culinary successes involved a slow cooker, a roast, potatoes, carrots, onions, canned tomatoes, and beef broth. (Thank you, Google.)

Here are my final thoughts. Being a caregiver is difficult at times. It’s also gratifying, especially when the care receiver is someone you love and has cared for you more times in the past than can be counted. I’ve gone to bed tired, yet energized from having adhered to vows that I made before our Lord over 30 years ago. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health.”

The future is uncertain. Nancy and I have each other and a loving, forgiving Savior walking with us throughout the time we have left.

In conclusion, I’m reminded and comforted by a scripture from Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Even eat my own cooking.