When the carer can’t care

Did I say ‘carer’? The Mechanic balks at that word. ‘I’m a husband,’ he says. ‘Caring’s just part of the job description, isn’t it?’

Anyway, roles were reversed last week. He woke up on Tuesday with a stiff calf muscle. He’d done an eighty kilometre ride the day before and thought he’d try some gentle stretching. But by that evening the muscle had swollen to about twice its normal size and he winced just to put his foot on the floor. He had a mild temperature too. We were off to Bega casualty, in my car—I wasn’t sure if I’d be leaving him there, for a start, but he couldn’t have driven anyway.

It was alarming when the triage nurse starting asking about recent long haul flights. The doctor agreed and ordered a blood test, which seemed to confirm a clot—otherwise known as deep vein thrombosis. But the ultrasound department was closed for the night. ‘We’ll give you some blood thinners and pain relief,’ said the doc, just after midnight. ‘Come back at 9 am for an ultrasound.’

What? Go home with possible DVT!? And they wonder why mortality rates are higher in rural areas …

A lighter moment when the doctor, who until then had been distracted by his work, noticed us limping out the door, him on crutches and me on my walker.

He looked me up and down. ‘Um … who’s driving?’

I smiled. ‘Me.’

‘Really? How far away do you live?’

‘Quaama. Half an hour.’

He suddenly looked pale and I took pity. ‘I’ve got hand controls.’ He brightened visibly. He thought he’d dosed up our driver with industrial-strength oxycodone, and it was just kicking in.

Not much sleep for me that night. The patient slept fine, thanks to the drugs. But, thankfully, the ultrasound on Wednesday morning indicated not a clot but a serious muscle tear (you’d think he would have felt it happen) with pooling blood causing swelling and pain.

It’s been ten days now and he’s much better. Just a bit cranky at the ruling—no bike-riding for at least a month. But those first few days we had to share my walker, at first, then he dusted off my spare walking stick. And I found myself having to take part in many of those household chores I’d delegated over the last couple of years. Neighbours and friends were very helpful, but it’s all those minor things. I’m used to being Lady Muck after a certain time of day, when I just direct proceedings from the sofa. But with the Mechanic off his feet, I was exhausted.

So this is a shout-out to partners, parents, kids, friends … anyone who cares, and the daily difference they make.