Asking for Help: Diary of a Foot Part 1
I’ve just had an operation on my foot.
That’s the casual way in which I tell people why I’m tied to the house at the moment. I tend to make it sound really lighthearted, as if a bunion operation is just a passing inconvenience. And to be honest, it is. I’m not permanently disabled. At some point soon I will be out of this dressing and stylish boot and be able to walk about again. It’s important to say that right at the start, because I am about to follow it up with an impressive moan and I don’t want people to think that I don’t know how fortunate I am. At the same time, I am seriously fed up.
Bunions sound like a bit of a joke. Definitely they sound like something old people get. I don’t think of myself as old yet. I’m fifty five, mostly fit and healthy with a fairly active lifestyle, two dogs and two teenagers, and therein lies the reason I had this operation in the first place. Some people probably think that I have dreams of wearing elegant high heeled shoes in the future. By the time I’d waited eighteen months for this operation, I was dreaming about getting my foot into a trainer. Bunions hurt. But the news is, four days after the operation, this hurts more.
The pain isn’t the problem, though. For me, the problem is the helplessness, the need to depend on other people to do the simplest thing. I’m walking on two crutches, with my foot encased in a stylish velcro boot, and I’m under strict instructions to sit down and keep the foot elevated as much as possible to stop it swelling.
It’s not that I don’t have enough people to help me. I live with my husband, my son who is 18 and my daughter who is 16. My husband works at home and my son is currently studying at home so at any time there is somebody about to bring me tea and feed me. My problem is that I hate asking for help.
With plenty of time to consider, I’ve come to realise that this problem pervades all areas of my life. I am a writer, working from home, and I’m permanently complaining about a lack of time to work, but this is clearly because I try to do everything myself. I spend my days running from one household task to another, managing the household admin and money, dealing with doctors appointments, vets appointments, shopping, cooking, cleaning and laundry while trying to snatch the odd hour to do research or write a chapter in between. But what I never do is sit down, make a list and share out jobs. The result is that when I’m unable to function normally, my family has no idea what needs to be done on a day to day basis, and I find it incredibly hard to tell them. I’m not used to delegating or giving orders or instructions and the frustration of not being able to jump up when I can see something that needs doing is overwhelming.
I’ve come to the conclusion that this is contributing to how miserable I’m feeling through this. Perhaps, as my wise daughter tells me, this is the time to take a deep breath and learn some new habits. This isn’t going to come easily either to me or to my family. For all that they complain that I do too much, they’re part of the pattern and there is always an underlying feeling of resentment when they are asked to step up. They don’t want to feel that way but change, imposed from outside, is never comfortable.
But I think it is time. It’s not good for them to drift through life with things just happening around them; it’s stopping them from learning and growing and it’s teaching them helplessness when they’re all actually perfectly competent. It’s not good for me either to feel this sense of being indispensible. There’s something slightly arrogant in believing that normal life stops because I’m ill or can’t do things.
This morning, while contemplating this matter, I decided to have a bath. A bath is very technical at the moment, since it involves keeping one foot dry, hanging over the edge of the bath. There was something very comical in the series of fairly athletic moves required to get in and out of the water without soaking the dressing but I’m proud to say I managed it without help….
Then again, perhaps I’ve still got a way to go with this one…
