The Look of Love........

Arbitrarily argued the English New Wave pop synth group, ABC, in 1981 as they asked us to aurally entertain an arraignment for that acidic, acerbic, absorbing of all emotions:  Amore!

With Valentine's Day (indeed another song by ABC) now under our belts it seems appropriate to turn my spying eye on the subject of the celebrated day : the killing of early dissenting religious figures in the Roman Empire.

 oops, that should be love.

but hasten ye not, for how has the execution of 2 early Christian martyrs in Rome result in the global phenomenon of yet more commercial excess. Thank the early Christian Church, Chaucer and the introduction of the postal service by those commercially minded Victorians, allowing the mass production and transport of all those luvverly cheesy cards.

February 14 was chosen to usurp the pagan festival of Lupercalia (fragilistic-expiali-dotious?) where it was the practice to slaughter a couple of goats and then daub blood over the gathered throng of initiates, before slicing the goat into ribs and daubing each other with the mutilated flesh and blood
Thank goodness it has evolved, I am not a fan of daubing in general:

and whilst partial to spare ribs, I prefer them to be cooked and a little less goat sourced.

But back to love....sweet love (thanks Burt) which gives me an ideal opportunity to thank my other half, G (Privacy Act  1993 forbids disclosure of personal information....!).

My life on dialysis and post transplant recovery is well documented in this august organ, but rarely does one spare a thought for those others affected by the transplant, the partner, who soon becomes the primary caregiver.

For the first 3-4 weeks I was totally dependent on G for food, cooking (being a Master chef does have it's advantages, thankfully no sign of the bad tempered judges), cleaning, entertainment (please pass the remote dear..) and shopping (How  much?! and the expiry date is tomorrow?.....)

  

Because of the risk of injury to the healing wound and donated organs, housework was also out of the question (still is, I hear G murmuring from the wings)...

 So all in all I was in a pretty piteous state, and enormously grateful of the practical help and emotional support that was being lavished on me.

Not always the best patient in the world (Yes, who would have guessed!), I sometimes appeared less than appreciative of the care and attention that was being lavished on me. All that and still working, what a star! So for all that I say a heartfelt thanks.

 Now there is a condition known to medical staff the world over, which relates specifically to the partner. It simply called caregiver burnout. No sign of immolation here, but rather a collapse of will caused by the extra physical exertion of looking after a sick person, and the mental stresses that roll through like a giant tsunami of emotion; anger, stress, worry, and envy.

Envy? Why yes, Imagine if you will, that every single person you meet and interact with starts their discourse with "How's Andrew doing?", or variations on that theme. This could be a tad annoying, like "Hello? I do actually exist or have you forgotten???" This of course, repeated ad nauseum might build up causing smouldering resentment

Worry: but of course dear chums, the ongoing strain of anxiety. Anxious that the transplant may not be successful, the fear of organ rejection, continued anxiety over the state of the wound and its apparent slow progress of healing?

Stress: Can be manifested in many variants, but usually follow the same pattern. There is the enduring stress and worry of keeping the house maintained, the financial stress of dealing with a reduced income,
the stress of maintaining a mask of sublime happiness all the time to the world, the stress of additional physical tasks that need to be performed for the patient, the burden of being the sole cook and drinks provider (At least gin o'clock was maintained adequately, though to be sure of an uninterrupted
supply, might have the drip fluids replaced by gin, easy on the tonic);

the stress of anxiety, worrying that you haven't done all you can for them to aid their recuperation, and of course the stress of maintaining a cupboard full of UK sweets for the patient to experiment with.....actually I think that one was just me?

The caregiver can also be prone to mounting anger and resentment over the care and in particular the attitude of the patient. Soon the patient appears to gain health and mobility and appears well enough to cope with small taks and so the caregiver begins to wonder how much more can he or she do, when the patient seems capable in so many ways.
Additionally the lack of a physical relationship while wounds heal can lead to a growing sense of frustration and ultimately anger. Though of course the realities of the actual operation ultimately preclude any canoodling. Rather akin to a trussed and stapled chicken, ready for the oven...

Now I am quite fortunate for my G has been excellent ( I might call the agency and have this one kept on), but other patients have seen relationships collapse, homes broken up, partners temporarily move out, and even family violence.

The closest we ever got to such stress was a mild rebuke caused by the perceived tardiness of a cup of tea requested, nay demanded in a suitably imperious tone, for what seemed at the time eons ago.  It is amazing how much raw anger and resentment can be concealed in a vicious and agitated stirring of a teaspoon. Luckily we scraped through this Poison Arrow.

So you see ensuring your partner is included emotionally and practically, and rewarded for being there is really as easy as A B C.  Taking steps to avoid the isolation and solitude felt be some should really be spelled out in the Lexicon of Love. Indeed When Smokey Sings not only should you rush and get the gin and tonic ready but you should offer All of Your Heart (Okey dokey that's All of My Heart, but that wouldn't pun grammatically.....)

Lexically confused? Oh dear , lets start at the very beginning
a very good place to start,

when you read you begin with A - B - C ,
when you sing you begin with Do, re, me.......enough already we're not in Salzburg!

 (But that's another entry)