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THE DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS
WAS RIGHT ON THE MARK

Journal of Healing – Sept. 27, 2006

By Mary Koch

We have faithfully kept a weekly doctor’s appointment the last couple years. Only a week ago did I finally hear a diagnosis I fully understood.

The doctor is television’s “House.” He is a genius diagnostician whose edgy personality cuts like a serrated knife. I often wonder if real-life medical people watch the show to catch technical errors as House and his cohorts debate over mystery ailments in rapid-fire medicalese:

“Look at the elevated globlets in his patumen. It’s got to be Forticue Syndrome – so rare there’ve been only three reported instances in the past 200 years!”

“It can’t be Forticue – the poxlapida readings show normal levels of protonozobin. Intravenous treatments with hydroplymane cloxidokia have had no effect.”

I never have a clue what they’re talking about. Until last week.

The patient was a man who was totally paralyzed and could not speak. Now there’s a condition that strikes pretty doggone close to home. Like my husband, the man has just enough movement in one hand to drive a power wheelchair. In the opening scene, he drives his chair into the family swimming pool.

He survives and we cut to the hospital, where House and colleagues are dithering over the patient. House never limits his acerbic commentary to patients and co-workers. Family members are also fair game for the doctor’s brutal honesty.

In this case it was the wife, the caregiver. With agonizingly clear insight, House describes her predicament:

“Taking care of him does not fulfill you, make you happy,” says House. “But not taking care of him would make you miserable.”

* * *

THAT IS the pain that many family caregivers live with. Obviously you can’t be “happy” about caring for a loved one because that would suggest you take pleasure in their illness or disability. But your heart will not let you choose to not do it.

As usual, House overstates the case. There are times when I do feel fulfilled, even elated as a caregiver. Usually, that’s when I’m able to do something that especially pleases John or helps him meet personal goals.

But frankly, I’d just as soon that we were both doing something else.

That’s a risky thing to say, especially this week. John has been as edgy as House, making his own serrated accusations. It’s ground – muddy ground – that we’ve covered in the past. Others in similar situations know what I’m talking about.

I don’t know what brings it on. A momentary lapse in trust, faith or hope, perhaps, and you hear statements like, “Don’t you wish I were dead?” or, “Why don’t you just divorce me?”

* * *

EVEN THOUGH we’ve been through this before, and I know we’ll resolve it, I tend to go a little crazy.

It’s like another TV show we saw last week – a documentary about big horn sheep. The biologist described how the males butt heads during mating season. Afterwards, the sheep assess their situation by looking over the opponent. Am I better off, worse or the same as the other guy?

“They only know themselves relative to each other,” said the biologist. Is that us? Is my well-being determined by my husband’s condition – physical, mental or emotional? When you’re part of a couple, how do you be an individual? By butting heads?

As we have before, we asked a professional to guide us. She helped us remember what we already knew. John’s feelings and choices are his own, and mine are mine. I empathize with his fears and suspicions, and he accepts that care-giving is my choice.

Any other would make me miserable.

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