Heart to Heart: September 2023

Sacrifices

Originally published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Spirit of America

America was not built on fear. America was built on courage, on imagination and an unbeatable determination to do the job at hand. ~Harry Truman

I felt like my heart was being torn in two! My daughter, Michele, bought tickets for me to attend a Christian Women’s Conference in Minnesota with her and my granddaughter, Katie. Around the same time Katie would be turning twenty-one years old and I really wanted to be there for that special celebration.

The problem was that I couldn’t leave my husband, John, at our home in California alone. He is 100% disabled due to PTSD contracted after his service in Vietnam, which left him with nightmares and depression. He has epilepsy and the seizures occur randomly. The seizures have gradually affected his brain until he has very little short-term memory. He is waiting for carpal tunnel surgery for tremors in his hand and has therapy for fall prevention due to a loss of balance and several bad falls. He has to wear a CPAP machine at night for sleep apnea and needs help hooking it up. He can no longer drive and I have to administer his pills morning and night so he won’t forget. How could I leave him?

John’s psychologist at the VA told us about a respite program where caregivers can leave their loved ones twice a year for fifteen days to give them a break. She called the program for us and found out that John more than qualified for the program and asked the social worker to call me.

Monique, the social worker, called to ask me when I needed to leave John and I gave her the dates in October. “Oh,” she said, “we are booked through January. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you have a waiting list?” I asked her.

“No, I’m sorry, we don’t, but you can check back from time to time to see if there have been cancellations.”

“Okay, thank you.” My heart was heavy when I called Michele to tell her I didn’t think I would be able to come.

“You should just get your ticket in case something changes,” she suggested.

I waited a few weeks and then called Monique at the VA. “Have there been any cancellations?” I asked her.

“No,” she replied, “and now there are no vacancies until February.”

I talked it over with John and he kept telling me to just go—that he would be fine at home by himself. I didn’t feel like I could leave him alone for twelve days. What if he had a seizure or fell down the stairs? No one would be there to help him. There was no way he could skip his medications even once and I knew that although he tried hard to take care of himself, he wouldn’t remember to take his pills on time.

“Just get your ticket and go,” he begged me. “I’ll be fine.”

I was so uncertain about what to do. I really wanted to visit Michele and her family. It had been three years since I had been there for Katie’s graduation. I prayed, “God, I feel so confused. If You want me to go to Minnesota, please help me because I don’t know how to make this happen.”

The very next morning, Monique called me. “Don’t get too excited,” she began, “but some dates have been freed up in October. Tell me again what dates you wanted to go on your trip.”

My voice was shaking as I told her, “I wanted to leave on the seventh to be there for Katie’s birthday and return on the nineteenth after the Christian conference.” There was no answer from Monique. “Are you still there?” I asked her.

“Yes—yes,” she replied. “Those are the exact dates that opened up! That is so weird!”

“No,” I told her. “That is God at work.” I told her about praying for God to work it out since I didn’t know what else to do myself. “How does it feel to have God use you and the VA to make someone’s dream come true?”

By the time we hung up, we were both crying. I thanked God then, still in disbelief that He had worked this all out for us. “You are amazing, God. Now, if you can help me convince John, I will be even more thankful!”

I explained to John that the dates had opened up and he could stay at the VA while I was gone.

“No, I don’t want to stay there! I can take care of myself!”

Trying to be patient, I told him, “I know you might be fine, but you also might have a seizure or a fall and no one would be here with you. Will you please stay at the VA to give me peace of mind? I would feel so terrible if something happened to you while I was gone. I would worry about you the whole time.”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me!” he protested. This once able-bodied soldier had received a Purple Heart and a bronze cross for his service. He didn’t want to be “taken care of” like a child.

“I know you MIGHT not need help, but you can’t drive either. If you stay at the VA, they will take you to your appointments and therapies so you won’t miss any. You will have other veterans to talk to and they always have something fun going on for the residents.”

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “I’ll do it for you, but I don’t need the help.”

John told everyone I was leaving him at a “kennel” while I was gone! Although he would not admit it, John got along fine. He was very popular with the nurses and became quite a Bingo shark! He also found new friends to talk with.

I enjoyed my time in Minnesota and got to spend a lot of time with Michele, Katie, my son-in-law Tim, and grandson Kris. I was able to meet Katie’s boyfriend and Kris’s girlfriend. The weather was cool and the fall leaves were spectacular. I came home with precious memories ready to pick up my role as caretaker again.

I realized that where we end up in life is not always in the future we planned. We pass people on the streets who don’t look like heroes as they move along with the aid of a walker. We go through our days caring for our loved ones with our lives revolving around their needs and appointments resulting from their service to our country.

Yet, when I see my husband struggle to his feet when the national anthem is played, I also know we live in the most wonderful country in the world. Despite his limitations, my husband is still proud to be an American and proud to have served.

~Judee Stapp

Through Thick and Thin

Originally published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Miracle of Love

Gratitude is the memory of the heart.

~Jean-Baptiste Massieu

The doctors faced us across the steel table in a small, gray office at the Veterans’ Hospital. They looked at us for a long moment and then began to go over the results of the mental test they had administered to my husband, John.

“While some of the tests are normal, most of them show you have weakened abilities in the areas of memory and judgment, sir.” The doctor paused and took a deep breath. John felt for my hand and held on to me tightly.

“I’m sorry to tell you that the final diagnosis is ‘advanced cognitive impairment with significant short-term memory loss.’ This will probably progress into dementia.”

I felt like they had kicked me in the stomach, and I couldn’t breathe. It seemed like all the air had been sucked out of that small space. I felt John’s hand tightening painfully on mine, and then it began to shake uncontrollably. I wanted to grab him and run out of that place, away from them and their calm, clinical words that would change our lives forever.

Instead, we stood, thanked them and walked slowly as John maneuvered his way down the hall with his right hand on his cane and his left arm looped through mine. We didn’t talk as we clung to each other all the way to the car.

“What are we going to do?” John asked me on the drive home. “I don’t want you to have to take care of me for the rest of our lives!”

I had loved this man for twenty-six years. We had met in the Angels Booster Club and grown close through our common love of baseball. We moved slowly in the relationship since both of us had been through painful divorces. I came to know him as an honorable, kind and thoughtful man. His parents and my mom and sister grew to love each other as well. I adored his daughter and John was excited to be a stepfather to my children and grandchildren. Our wedding was a true blending of our families as the minister placed everyone’s hands on the Bible and declared, “I now pronounce you one family brought together by God.”

We had taken care of my mother, and then John’s parents and my sister at the end of their lives. We had always told ourselves that our time would come to enjoy our freedom and travel when we retired.

Then I had colon cancer surgery on our twenty-fifth anniversary and had to postpone our dream trip to New England. “Don’t worry,” John had told me then, “we will be able to travel later. You’ll see.”

So the following year, we planned a trip on a paddlewheel boat up the Mississippi from New Orleans to Memphis with ten friends from our church. A few weeks before we left, I developed a painful kidney stone. When the doctors went in to remove it, they found another tumor that had to be removed. Again John told me, “Don’t worry, you will be up and around in time for our trip.”

His positivity must have worked because we went on our trip and had a lovely time. I did notice, though, that he had more trouble walking and was confused on the boat about where our cabin was. On the trip home, John lost his balance and took a bad fall in the Dallas airport as we hurried to change planes on our way back to California.

When we got home, the doctor scheduled a three-hour mental evaluation for John. It seemed the results of that test would derail the future we had planned together. All of this flashed through my head as we headed for home after the doctor’s crushing diagnosis.

John put his hand on my knee as I drove, waiting for me to answer.

“Okay, that was the medical diagnosis, but they don’t know us,” I told him. “We have weathered every storm together, and this will be no different! We will eat healthy and exercise every day. Maybe the extra oxygen will help your brain stay clear longer.”

“This is not the future we had planned, and I don’t want you to be saddled with caring for me,” John whispered.

“We are stronger together, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else except with you in this fight,” I assured him. “Besides, I wonder if anyone really ever ends up where they planned to be later in life.”

We have developed ways of dealing with the memory loss by making lists and using calendars to remind him of plans. I administer his many medications, sit in on all his medical appointments, and encourage him to participate in activities with our church, relatives and friends.

This once proud, decorated soldier is slowly fading away. My heart hurts for him, but there is nowhere I want to be except by his side. I’m not always patient or the perfect caretaker, but our love and commitment are strong, and we are quick to forgive each other for our mistakes. We’ve learned to be grateful for the time we have together and we manage to live joyfully.

~Judee Stapp