I have caregiver’s syndrome: I can make appointments and take Mark to the doctor more easily than I can do it for myself. My excuses are: I spend too many hours in the doctor’s office as it is; my issues are not serious; I’ll go later when things settle down. The truth is “trigger” thumb is not as serious as blood clots. However, it’s uncomfortable as well as somewhat debilitating. After trying creams and a thumb-support brace prescribed by my primary care physician seven months ago, I was convinced that only surgery would fix my problem.
I put off the appointment with an orthopedic doctor for months. How could I have surgery anyway? I need my hands not only for my care, but for Mark’s as well. Who would shower, dress, and transfer him? I didn’t want to ask family or friends.
Since September, when Mark returned home from the care center, we have the benefit of home health care. I really appreciate the extra support this gives me. I wish the insurance would see it as a continual necessity. But since they don’t, if I have to have surgery, now is the time, while Mark has this benefit.
I made my appointment.
After a three-week wait to get in to the doctor, I was told a cortisone shot would most likely take care of the problem. I had it and it did. Why did I wait so long? It was almost instant relief. The thumb is still a little stiff and I can’t completely bend it yet, but it’s only been one week. The pain is gone.
I also made an appointment for my annual checkup that was four years past due.
“Have you had your colonoscopy yet?” the doctor asked.
“No,” I said, bracing for her reprimand.
“You’re almost 5 years late. You better get that scheduled. It’s not that bad.”
“I have helped my husband through the preparation twice. It was horrible!”
She imagine about how hard that would be for a wheelchair dependent person and the hundred of rushed transfers to the commode, and then she agreed with me.
“The preparation is the worst part, then you get to nap,” she said, and suggested that next time I get Mark admitted in the hospital for the preparation.
“We can do that?” I asked.
She thought in his case we could.
After reviewing the questionnaire I had filled out just before the appointment, she looks at me and asks, “Why are you taking Flomax?”
“For my allergies,” I replied.
“Flomax is not for allergies it’s for the prostate.”
Turning red in the face I said, “Oh yeah, that’s my husband’s prescription. Mine is a nasal spray called, Flo something.”
She chuckled, “You mean Flonase.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it.”
“You definitely have caregiver’s syndrome,” she said.
I’ll gladly take that reason over being absent-minded and resolve to pay more attention to my own health. I only have two prescriptions and I can’t remember the names of them. Mark, on-the-other-hand has several prescriptions, and those I know.
Mark’s well-being is dependent on me, therefore as a caregiver I should pay more attention to my own health so I can be well and strong.
It’s easy to say, hard to do. But I’m going to work at it.