On May 23, 2024, my husband, Jim Gallagher, entered the E.R. he worked in for 15 years, this time as a patient. Within days he was fighting for his life as an infection that began in his foot raged throughout his body, and on June 4th, his leg was amputated below the knee in order to save his life. This is an ongoing log of our journey.
One step at a time.
Have you ever tried to take more than one step at a time? That’s where I found myself this week: seeing all the things I need to do, and trying to do them all at once. If you’ve tried this, you already know that it ends with a whole bunch of stuff sitting everywhere, everything started and nothing finished, and a lot of confusion and frustration.
Sometimes the finish line, or my own deadline for having the house ready for selling, looms large and close. It feels deceptively productive to write The List and set a goal to do all the things at once, but it isn’t exactly within the scope of reality. It’s time to stop, go back to the starting line and wait for the gun to go off. In fact, even before that, to make sure you’re even lining up on the right starting line!
Anyone else a bit ADHD? Vision and excitement are addictive and full of potential glory to the likes of us. But open all those boxes at once? Suddenly I can’t walk through my house, and I’m not appreciating my accomplishments because I’m lost in the clutter of the half-finished.
The fact is, preparing the house for sale is huge, but it’s not the Number One priority. That is still helping Jim to be as healthy as possible.
Carts and horses.
When I was a kid in Pakistan, I loved the “tongas”—two-wheeled carts with a lovely seat to sit on, often covered by a small roof which fringe on it. These were pulled by a single horse, a horse taxi of sorts. I loved watching them and imagining riding in one. A driver sat in front, “steering” the horse, and the riders enjoyed the [sometimes] fresh air as they were driven to their desired destination. But the horse always had to be in front, not the cart!
I have consistently been getting my carts before my horses lately.
I have consistently been getting my carts before my horses lately. The “horse”—the important driving factor behind all of our change—is getting Jim well, accommodating his comfort, his care, his appointments and rehabilitation and pain management. When I put that first, it all goes better than when I am distracted by the vision of all these other things I need to get in place.
Horse first.
Tuesday began with bad news and stuckness and problems to solve involving communicating with the government—my favorite. For every step forward, it seemed like there were three more obstacles to solve. So I turned up the frantic energy, trying to solve them all (at least in my brain) at once! You can imagine how well that went. I began to resent the “horses” that were in my way, like getting Jim to the doctor, and stopping to get a prescription, and then needing to make a long trip across town to see my own doctor before I could get a refill on my own prescription, and, and, and….
My horses were wondering where I even was, as my cart went careening pell-mell down a hill without them.
Enter Jim. Nowhere to go except to that appointment and the pharmacy, and he was delighted to be in the car like a real human being, looking out at the sunshine and the life around us.
"When did Summer happen?"
"I've been indoors for so long. When did Summer happen?" he said.
He relished the sun and the luxury of being together. Everything normal to the rest of us was glorious to him, and he slowly changed my viewpoint. Before long his outlook had turned my nightmare into the most delightful outing, as we took the long way home, drove through Carl’s Junior for hamburgers, and sat in the shade having a “date”, and adapting to the inconveniences that emerged.
Yes, it was all terribly inefficient and time-consuming. But in the end it felt like luxury, spending all that time out in the sunshine with my man.
We talked, of course, as we drove. We reminisced about our journey since May 23rd, and Jim asked questions about those first, foggy, fast-moving days in the hospital. We talked often about his close brush with death, and what each of us were thinking, and how we each made peace with letting Jim go, if that was God’s plan. We relived the progression of bad news, and then also the small gains and the tiniest of hopes as his kidney function would increase by 1% each day. The efforts to save his foot. The “good riddance” when it was time to let it go.
It was a long time, that 61 days in the hospital. It also flew by. And here we are, living together in our own home, and driving in the August sunshine, and seeing it all with new eyes.
We found our horse. We got it back in front of the cart. We slowed down, and the joy returned to the journey.
Obstacles? There are still plenty. Like slapping mosquitoes on a hot day. But you can focus on the mosquitoes, or you can sip that lemonade and listen to the birds.
Today I choose the lemonade. I think I'll take it...
One step at a time.
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