When my mom died a few years ago, we ended up with some of her things, including her old walker and cane. I’m not even sure why we kept them, but I suspect inertia had something to do with it. They got deposited in the garage and very quickly disappeared from mind and sight…until my knee replacement surgery began looming on the horizon.
Mom had both her knees replaced when she was in her 80’s. By that time, my dad was living in a memory care unit in a health care center just a few blocks from home. After the first knee replacement surgery, Mom ended up going to that same place for rehab, but on a different floor. She hated her rehab experience there, although I can’t now remember why. When she had her second knee surgery, I offered to come up and stay with her for a few days so she didn’t have to go somewhere else. In those days, the surgery wasn’t outpatient, like it is now, so she would have had a few days recovering in the hospital first.
I picked her up from the hospital and drove her to the house where I’d grown up. They must have given me information about her medications and activity requirements, but in general, we can assume that I was almost entirely ignorant about what recovery from knee replacement surgery was really like. I didn’t stay long – probably three nights, since I felt a need to get back to my own family. I was nervous about her being able to go up and down the stairs without falling, but she assured me she was okay. I knew that a couple of my siblings would be able to check in on her regularly, so off I went.
Now that I’ve been through this same surgery, I wish I could tell her how brave she was to go through it all by herself, especially at that age. I wish I had stayed with her longer, too. The first couple of weeks after my own surgery, I leaned heavily on my husband for help with the medication schedule, meal making, errand running, ice machine management (which included coming down at 2:00 a.m. every night for one and a half weeks to refill the ice machine with frozen water bottles), and comforting companionship. He was always sitting right there in the room with me if I needed anything. My dad would absolutely have done the same for Mom if he’d been able.
I would love to have been able to compare stories with my mom after I had my surgery, to find out how the physical therapy and rehab went with her, to learn more about what she thought about her new knees, and whether or not she wished she’d had the surgery done earlier. However, it was oddly comforting to have the use of her walker and cane. I think perhaps she would have been glad to know that even though she couldn’t be here to encourage me along the way, she helped me nonetheless by leaving behind those sturdy tools of support that I couldn’t have imagined needing. Underneath it all lies the unfathomable providence of God.
“O, the depths of the riches,
both of the wisdom and knowledge of God.
How unsearchable are His judgments
and unfathomable His ways.”
Romans 11:33
I’ll probably put this in the blog garage in the morning, out of mind and sight.
Lynniebeemuseoday 