Something that you might not have thought of if you have to have surgery.

Help! My bed’s holding me hostage!

I’m approaching retirement age. I’ve had some encounters with doctors that you might expect--birth of a child, a hysterectomy, bunion surgery, broken bone in foot to move big toe, and a few of the not so routine test that involve copious visits to the rest room the night before the tests. So… I’ve had a little experience not being as mobile as I’d like to be.

Hubby has had a torn rotator cuff repair, some cracked ribs and some heart procedures done in the hospital. He’s had some experience not being as mobile as he’d like to be.

However….

I’ll admit it, I nagged off and on for over 20 years trying to get him to put in the easy access shower and everything needed to install it; all that stuff was sitting out in the storage building already paid for. About 2 years ago, after he acquired those cracked ribs through no fault of his own, he paid for a company to install a brand new easy access shower.

Fast forward to about a month ago, I had a total hip replacement. I thought I’d done a fairly good job getting the house in shape prior to surgery. Installing stair rails outside, getting up a carpet runner, down-sizing furniture so that there was walking space around each piece, installing extra grab bars in the bathroom.

I even worked on the bed (to get it easier to use). Yes, hubby and I lowered it [still needed a step stool]; yes, hubby installed a headboard with grab points; yes, we changed the bed position in the room for an easier access to and from from the room; and yes, I installed a medical bedside grab bar [glad I did].

Note however; it’s the little things that trip you up--those quarter inch to half inch threshold pieces at doorways, those little strips of metal between tile and hardwood floor changes, the not quite enough space around the toilet to allow the tall adaptive toilet to fit over the existing toilet, and the need for extra clear space and landing zones beside the doors.

Before I left the hospital, the hospital personnel  insisted that I had to have a care giver/nurse or someone in the home able to help me. Hubby became my at-home nurse. I also had to had a bedside toilet [we placed it over our existing toilet], a walker, and grab rails for both sides of any steps. We had it all covered.

What I/we didn’t take into account was my bed. My bed held me hostage.  Once I was in bed, the support pillows, the sheet and blankets encased me like a sausage; I couldn’t even move my toes. Once the pillows were in position and the covers were thrown over my body, I couldn’t get the covers off me past my waist. Once hubby tucked me in bed, I was a papoose or a mummy trapped in the bindings. The only way I didn’t panic was to have my feet uncovered, both of them. My bed still held me hostage but I dealt with it, well sort of.

Now hubby tried he really did, but he really didn’t like having to get up or stop what he was doing every two hours or less to help me out and back into the bed. Before I found a nice loud emergency whistle could get his attention from a room as far away as possible from the bedroom, I’d be in tears of frustration from hollering trying to get his attention.

 [Do I dare say, and yes, I do and have, “hubby, really wasn’t meant to be a nurse,” especially since he kept forgetting to wear his hearing aids.]

During my first 2 weeks at home after surgery, hubby threatened to take a hammer to my whistle after about the 3^rd blow for assistance. Enough said about that. I went to issuing one really long blow!

Well it has been four weeks now and the covers can still trap me. Putting a large handmade bolster across the foot of the bed under the top sheet made moving my toes possible and helped alleviate the hostage situation that I felt trapped in. I’m still not sure where or when the bed will kidnap me again. I’m waiting; I’m practicing; I have a plan; the next time this hostage will be prepared to fight back!