Today hubby Gerry (my care partner) and I had a good start to our morning: we discussed how cancer affects relationships, then reviewed some time-critical household management chores over breakfast. Afterwards, he went out to paint the deck, and I prepared for some medical appointments and errands. Before I left, I poked my nose out the deck door to let him know I was leaving (carefully keeping both cats inside), then closed the door and departed.
After Gerry was through painting the deck, he was greatly surprised to discover his chemo-brained wife had locked the deck door from the inside (as was her routine) while he was outside (which was not routine).
He was alone on a freshly-painted deck at 11 am, ten to fifteen feet off the ground, knowing that I wouldn’t be home for another seven hours. He tried to get the attention of some workmen two yards away so they could call me, but they couldn’t hear him over their lawnmower.
Ten minutes of staring at the earth motivated his engineering brain to develop a plan that (he hoped) wouldn’t contribute to our medical bills. I cringed to hear the route my 77-year-old spouse chose to climb down to safety. I won’t bore you with all the details, but he successfully dealt with the challenge so he could care for me another day. This evening as the sun was setting, he graciously re-enacted the moment so I could take a picture.
I’m glad this didn’t result in a care partner role reversal.
I’d like to say definitively that I wrote a great post on chemo brain once… but there have been days when that has been my go-to excuse for not having any idea what I actually accomplished or, more accurately, simply not remembering what I had planned to accomplish in the first place. But it is those little things, like the automatic locking of a door, that are tricky to get around. For the daily goals or work issues, written lists can solve most problems — but those random daily events and momentary lapses of reason rarely fail to surprise or amuse as long as they aren’t causing more problems of their own… Glad your husband was industrious and safe with this one! May all our spouses be as understanding and supportive.
Chemobrain is challenge, that’s for sure. Here’s hoping we get through most days without incident.
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Oh, my gosh! This sounds like something I would do, and I don’t have chemo brain to blame. I’m glad everything worked out with no broken bones.
Thanks, Sandra, for letting me know I’m not alone!
You always see the bright side of things. Sounds like your care partner does too!
Yeah, he’s pretty special. Didn’t even get mad at me for this one. But he has plenty of other opportunities …
I have lyme brain fog and do this stuff all the time. This was funny, but don’t tell your husband. Mine is my caregiver too and I think he’s earned a place in heaven.
Glad you can see the humor in the situation! Best hopes for you and your husband.