Steps 13-21: Micro-changes.

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.

Step 13: Inch forward on one leg.

When Jim first tried on his prosthesis model and shifted his weight to that leg, lightning bolts of pain put him on notice, and he was in bed for two days.  Same with milestones of exercise; just when you want to celebrate passing your “standing on one leg” record, your body punishes you for disturbing the peace.

But gradually, unpredictably, Jim began to have better days with less pain.  That means more ability to move from one room or chair to the next, and the capacity to enjoy a show, a card game, or an adventure in the car.

These micro-improvements have been major for both of us.  And when the third time Jim put weight on his revised prosthesis he didn’t feel any pain, hope began to soar!

We expect that the month of October will include both a new wheelchair and his prosthesis!  Jim’s psaos muscle is still not working, but the nerve pain in that area may indicate that it is waking up. 

Patience and persistence will show us what function Jim’s body is capable of recovering.

Step 14: Venture out.

We passed the four-month mark on September 23rd, and frankly, it felt more like eight months for both of us.  Our life rhythms and roles have radically changed in this time, and “normal life”, where Jim and I got up in the morning and went to our respective jobs, felt like the distant past. 

At the four month milestone we both were grieving the loss of freedom and autonomy, only it didn’t feel like grieving.  It just felt like the other guy was just being really, really annoying! 

Nothing pleased either of us, and we both had had it Up To Here, if you know what I mean. 

I’m great at assuming everything is about me, and I took Jim’s unhappiness personally, crying hot tears and complaining to the Lord behind closed doors about how impossible he was being, and I’m pretty sure he was doing the same, minus the tears.

God is merciful and gracious.  He hears every prayers, even the grumpy ones. 

God graciously pulled back the curtain and helped me to see how logical it is to want to hold onto the past with all your fingernails as you feel your control and your dreams slipping away. 

“It’s not about you,” He whispered, and I sat with that for a bit.  Maybe what Jim needed was a change of pace and place, a way to escape and change the monotony of his limited life inside our walls.

“How about we go to see Molly?” 

We were sharing our morning coffee in his small room, the one with the hospital bed. It’s our new morning ritual, he sitting inclined in his bed, me perched in his wheelchair, things falling off the small bedside table every blessed day, and dogs competing for who gets to lie across Jim’s legs or step on his nuts.

“Can we buy some yummy lunch?” Jim asked.  Food is great motivation, and soon* our car was filled to the gills. 

*Soon = hours later, considering the obstacles to get anywhere when you are non-ambulatory.  How will we wheel him up the front stairs? (Sort through lumber, add that to the trunk.) What if his pain flares up?  (In go the meds, pre-sorted.) What toileting needs might surprise us? (Add the commode, the wheelchair, the extra leg supports, pillows, something to cushion his leg in the car….)  Molly and Nate’s new house doesn’t have a table and chairs yet. (Enter Grandma’s folding table and two folding chairs.)

Our overflowing CRV finally rattled down the hill, and soon the sunshine and music were reframing our mental chatter as we drove north.  Molly beamed at us from the porch as we pulled up, and the two of us managed to wheel Jim up our makeshift ramp without turning him upside-down.

The Subway sandwiches felt like a feast as we ate around Grandma’s folding table amidst the clutter.  Something about being together, melding our mess with Molly’s move-in madness, glued us back together.  It was restoring simply to change the channel, and find out we could do a new thing!  Which, by the way, we did again the following week, choosing a date when Nate was home as well.

Surrounded by boxes and paint cans and possibilities and love, we remembered that life and progress are messy, but still beautiful.

Step 15: Consider a name change.

For over 60 years Jim’s name has just been Jim, James, Mr. Gallagher, Jimmy Ray, or Jimbo.  And I have always been, Kathy, Kathy Ruthy, Mrs. Gallagher, Katherine Ruth, Kath, Kassie Rufus, or Mom. 

But we are thinking about changing our names in early February.

They will now start with the word "Grand"!

We are now free to publicly reveal that Nate and Molly are expecting a baby boy next February!  We cannot wait to meet this precious little guy, our grandson.

Step 16: Retire.

One giant question has been nibbling at my heels for weeks: To retire or not to retire.

Early in Jim’s convalescence I doled out my paid leave hours and time off from work meticulously, knowing I would need to stretch paid leave as far as possible to accommodate his needs.  I was so grateful for the pay while I stayed home, but I often worried and prayed over the “what next” question.  What happens when the pay runs out?  This adventure did not come with a roadmap or an instruction manual.

In August Jim resigned his nursing position and officially retired.  Would I need to retire as well to care for him?  Could I?

The size of the need made that feel like the right solution, but I just could not see the way forward to cover our living expenses unless our house had sold…. and it hadn’t!  My boss graciously offered me part time work I could do from home, but I still couldn’t see how the demands at home would allow me the space to do that.

Each day we prayed for wisdom as I saw the window of choice closing, and many of you have mentioned you’ve been praying about this as well.

The answer came in a conversation with our financial advisor, who showed us how we could make quitting my job work, and tears of relief flowed down my face!  Tears of sadness, too, the next day as I visited my precious coworkers and met with my boss to give my resignation.  What a pea soup of all the emotions as I drove home!  Relief, sorrow, fear, gratefulness, exhaustion, determination, worry and trust.

Change is hard, even when change is good.

Step 17: Survive a peetastrophe.

There are just some things that are not discussed in polite conversation, and bodily fluids are on that list.  So if a discussion of pee is above you or beneath you, please fast forward to Step 18.

Unless you were raised under a rock you know this: Guys stand up to pee.  So what happens if you can’t stand? 

Enter the urinal, an essential that goes everywhere with us.  We have two, and because Jim can’t simultaneously get out of bed and into a wheelchair and hang onto the urinal to take it and dump it, that part has become my job.

At night both urinals are ready and waiting, hanging on the rails near the head of the hospital bed.  Often they are both half full by the morning, and I’ve been wondering when a disaster would occur--a dropped urinal, a stumble—something to upset the equilibrium of the universe… and the urinal.

Well, it finally happened!

We both did our jobs well, and two half-full urinals hung placidly on the rail that morning as Jim jockeyed into position to get dressed.  But as he inched toward the side of the bed, I heard an unexpected mechanical noise.  It took me a moment to realize that he was now sitting on the bed’s remote control, and that whir was his articulating bed, slowly lifting the head higher and higher and higher!

I lurched for the control, but too late: at that moment both urinals tipped to the spilling point, joyfully pouring out their motherlode of gold right there into the bed!

Things happen.  You can get mad or you can laugh.  We chose the latter, and it is a tale I’m sure we will long retell.

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. 

P. G. Wodehouse

Step 18: Show up in church!

Jim rolled into church last Sunday and quietly slid in next to a dear saint ahead of us in years who asks about Jim every Sunday and prays daily for him.  That’s when our tears began to flow.

Attending our church together for the first time in four months was a monumental step for both of us, and the joyful tears hardly stopped flowing all morning.  What a privilege it is to worship collectively, to be one of the voices singing praise, rehearsing together the truth about our awesome God with live music and many voices around us!

So many joyful reunions happened that morning, and God gave Jim the strength to sit in his often-uncomfortable wheelchair all morning while exchanging hugs and stories with his friends. 

Each visit was precious, but there was one greeting that Jim will never forget, and he tears up whenever he mentions it.

Our pastor wrapped up the morning with prayer and with his usual, “Friends, God loves you and I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”  And then he jumped off the stage, ran to greet Jim, and wrapped him in his big California Condor hug.

“That’s the way Jesus loves us,” Jim told me later, with tears.  “He runs to find us.  No matter state we are in, He always loves us.” 

I’m not sure where you are at in this moment, but I want you to know your Good Shepherd is running toward you.

Step 19: Stand triumphant.

An addendum to this really remarkable day was an unexpected event that balanced out the universe.

I am not used to Jim wheeling off on his own, but there he was, getting away from me and disappearing into the church lobby.  As he turned the corner I understood: he was headed for the men’s room. 

Wait.  What….?

Jim can’t stand to pee.  He can’t transfer to a low toilet.  So just how is this going to work?  I rushed to intercept him and redirect him to the handicapped bathroom, just as he disappeared into the men’s room.

Now this was awkward!  I couldn’t just walk into the men’s room, so what was I going to do? 

I stood in the hall and as I glanced that direction, I recognized Jim’s shirt through the crack in the stall door.  Trying not to appear as though I was peering into the men’s room, which I absolutely was, I glued my eyes on that shirt protectively and waited to see what would happen.

What happened was impossible. I watched Jim slowly rise to a standing position! 

Remember, he has only one leg that can reach the ground, and he normally holds onto two rails to lift himself to his feet.  BUT THERE HE WAS STANDING!  And standing, and standing and standing!

“Hey, Babe…” I said.  “I’m here if you need help!” 

I’m not sure if he heard me, but I held my breath tensely, hoping his leg would keep supporting him, and that I wouldn’t have to call an ambulance to lift him from a heap on the floor.  And then, slowly, the shirt lowered to a sitting position, and at last Jim rolled out in his wheelchair like nothing unusual had just happened, except that a smug grin was spreading across his face.

“I just stood up to pee for the first time in four months,”  he said.

We laughed and high fived, and then celebrated with all the guys hanging out in the lobby… who rose to the occasion with a standing ovation!

This peetriumph balanced out the universe (or maybe the urine-iverse) after Jim’s earlier peetastrophe. 

Step 20: Open your doors.

You may recall we listed our home for sale in September, and last week we had our first Open House!  Preparing for it meant one more stalwart push to the finish.

Well, not the finish.  There will always be more things we could do to improve things on 16 acres and inside our large home.  But my action list was quite long as the Open House date approached.  Days were long and nights short as I tried to be both Jim and Kathy, fix all the things, and hide all the messy! 

Friends again saved the day, helping with cleaning, fixing, hauling, corralling the storage, and on Sunday we threw the doors open!

No, our house did not sell that day, but completing those tasks lightened my ongoing load.  I woke up on Monday morning, and guess what?

I sat down on the sofa and soaked in the good feeling of knowing I was retired.

Thank you, Jesus, for this milestone.  Please sell our home in your perfect, beautiful timing.

Step 21: Reinvent and wait.

So life is changing!  We make steps of recovery.  We close doors and open others.  We change our names to grander ones.

We figure out how to walk together with different paces--wheels and feet together.  We take action.  We stop to rest, or think, or change course.

We argue, we roll our eyes, we cry, we love, we move forward. We let go. We build muscle.  We play games on a Friday night.  We pull in opposite directions.  We forgive again.  We pray, worry, trust, and we work hard at finding rest.

We wonder what comes next. 

But there is only one way we can take this journey, and that is...

One step at a time.