I have always been a bit squeamish. I shy away from graphic horror stories and prefer not to watch gory films. I never had a desire to work in the medical field, because I just don't have the stomach for it. I also don't think I have the heart for it either. By that I mean that I would spend my whole time weeping for people instead of being of practical use for them.
People used to say to me, "You should consider being a nurse or a doctor or something. You have so much experience dealing with illnesses." This was a reference to the fact that my mother has been chronically ill since I was a small child. While those issues helped grow my heart with compassion for others, it never caused me to have a desire to pursue anything in the medical field. Ever. Just no.
And then my 79 year old father ended up falling down last year on Mother's Day. I was the one to find him on the floor, not able to help him get back up. This necessitated a ride to the hospital via ambulance. There it was discovered that what might have caused the fall was a preexisting severe injury to his right foot. He had an open wound that was deep and had become infected, all the way into the bones. Since he has peripheral artery disease this exacerbated that injury. One mercy of his having PAD was that he could NOT feel the pain in his foot due to nerve damage, but this was probably why his foot got as bad as it did.
They wanted to amputate his foot or at the very least his toe and a chunk of bone. He was strictly against that idea. I wish I was more of a graphic description type person so you can understand my horror as I stood and sat at the foot of my father's hospital bed for the long hours during that first day. An infection that deep and that bad has its own intense look and odor. I hope to never witness anything like that EVER again.
It took months of 24 hour a day IV antibiotics, physical therapy, and medical care all while in nursing home care to save his foot. And then it came time for him to be released. It was clear that he could not go back to be at home with my mother, where he had to care for her, since he could no longer safely care for himself. It was also clear that I would need to be able to do wound care, because at the time of his release on July 31, 2019-his foot still had a gaping open would that had to be cleaned, packed, and bandaged every day.
I can still feel the horror it brought me and the fear that I would hurt him as I had to prod the wound, scrape it clean, wash it, re-pack it, and carefully bandage it. It sort of got easier as a matter of practice to go through the steps. And it sort of got better as he actually was able to grow new skin and the wound slowly shrank over months and months of care.
It is now at the point where the skin is whole. There are calluses that constantly try to grow along the old wound areas that I have been instructed to gently file down. There is the constant battle when I don't notice that he has twisted his sock and worn it that way all day while I am at work or walked funny with his slipper and he ends up with a small blister. And then I am crushed by fear, will we have another issue like last year?
And then there was the day where he was taking a nap. He was SOUND asleep. I figured I had time to take a shower. I was in need of some hot water therapy. By the time I got out, I discovered he woke up, didn't bother knocking on the bathroom door. He tried and sort of succeeded in going to our half bathroom, but that meant he had to go down 3 steps and he had NOT put on his slippers. And then there was the fact that the toilet in there is much lower to the floor. He was stuck. It took me several minutes to help him figure out how to position his legs and to get his walker sort of in there to help him get back up.
AND then he said the words I fear the most. His foot hurt. We got him to his chair and with shaking hands I took off his sock. And it was okay. There was no broken skin. He probably just hurt because he usually walks around the house with his slippers with the medical inserts in them. This was just a side effect of having no shoes or slippers on.
Most days, once I get done working all day, then get home and tend to my dad's feet and legs, and get all our supper, I am just done. I have nothing left. I have such anxiety building up until I get seated with our medical kit and slowly pull off his slipper and then his sock to do his check. Then the relief that usually washes over me, once I again see how his foot is, wipes me out.
Only once so far has the anxiety given way to crushing fear. A few months ago when I pulled off his sock I saw the blood blister that nearly caused me to vomit on the spot. The guilt and anxiety were overwhelming. We got him in the very next day to his foot doctor and the foot doctor said we did a great job staying on top of the situation, but still it wore me down.
And now there are so many tumultuous things happening in our country right now. Things I care about very much. If it had been a few years ago, I would be right out there marching in the protests for so many of these concerns. It was only a few years ago when I participated in a peaceful demonstration about the mistreatment of immigrants/migrants and their children. My heart supports so many different causes, but my mind and body just don't have the wherewithal to physically get out there and participate. It really takes all my energy to help my own household mostly successfully navigate getting through each day.
I had hoped that by now it would seem more second nature to me, that I wouldn't struggle with fear and anxiety in regards to helping my dad with some of his health issues. I had hoped it would get easier. I suppose in some small ways it has, but there is still much room for improvement for all of us. 
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