The Wrong Decision
Life is full of a million choices: Shall we go to Acapulco or to St. Moritz for the holidays? Should I select a tiara of diamonds and pearls, or emeralds? What investments shall we purchase for the portfolio? Do we really need a home with eight bathrooms when only five will do? Should we give our yacht’s captain a raise?
Those are someone’s concerns. Not mine. It is much simpler in my home, but nonetheless, even my decisions have ramifications.
The weekend was approaching. Violet (our caregiver) has Friday evening off to go to church and be with her husband. She returns 24 hours later to begin her week anew. We need a substitute when she is away. Our normal fill-in had an event and wanted to come at 11:00 at night to sleep-in and to be with us on Saturday. I refused the offer, until the options were placed before me. A hodge-podge of people coming and going during the 24 hours was also odious.
It was all complicated by my own ill health. Something akin to a bad cold has my chest aching and my head feeling as if it is full of cotton-wool (an English expression I learned from Hubby!). What exactly is cotton-wool? Fluffy cotton balls come to mind, but why “wool?” My decision making was definitely impaired. I succumbed to the idea of the care-giver arriving at 11 PM to begin her work.
Hubby announced that he did not want to watch anything sad on television. He wanted to be happy, as do we all. I selected Funny Girl knowing that Barbra Streisand would lift our spirits. We have a special connection to that film. The first time we saw it was in Lake Tahoe, days before we were married. It was my second trip cross-country to be with Hubby as he took temporary residence in Lake Tahoe on the Nevada side, in order to get a quickie divorce from wife #2. In case you have not read the chapters on our courtship, let the following suffice to bring you up to date: We met standing in line at J.F.K. on our way to London. Hubby was on his way to get a divorce. Not my fault. We sat together on the flight. He offered to show me London the next day. I said yes. He asked me to marry him that same night. I said yes…
So back to Funny Girl. The day Hubby gave me my gorgeous engagement ring, we went to see the film in a Lake Tahoe casino. When Barbra (funny that we have the same name but different spelling…) sang “Sadie, Sadie, married lady….” While admiring her oversized diamond… I was doing the same, and Hubby was smiling like a cheshire cat! Throughout our marriage, when this same song came across the airwaves, we looked at one another with a smile, remembering the sweetness of days gone by.
Last night, I asked Hubby if he remembered the film. He did not. Still, as the film progressed, he began to connect with bits and pieces. He always loved Streisand’s voice and it touched him once again.
At 11 PM, Miss F. arrived. The film ended at midnight. I insisted we all go to bed.
At 4:30 AM, I had a visitor. Hubby was at my bedroom door asking if “anyone” was there.
“Yes, I am here… but where is Miss F.?”
“Did you know that the front door is locked?” (Alarm bells went off in my head.)
Yes, how do you know?
“I wanted to go outside, but I could not open the door!”
Where are you coming from now?
“From work of course…” (he could have been “coming from his motorcycle”…it would have made just as much sense…).
By now, my wooly head was sharp and alert. Where is Miss F, whom I am paying to sleep on the sofa next to Hubby’s bed? That is supposed to ensure that she will hear him when he gets out of bed. It has always worked before.
Please go back to sleep. I turn over. A few minutes later I see the shadow of a being at my door.
What is going on? Why are you still here?
“I don’t know which way to go. ” My heart is aching.
Fully awake now, I escort Hubby back to his bedroom. I shout out the name of the person sleeping on the sofa, who is supposed to be employed to take care of Hubby. She stirs and gropes her way out from under the blankets. Kind of her to join us….
In the meantime, Hubby claims that he has gone down two flights of stairs to leave the premises, and back up again. He has come to my room to have a discussion, has been unable to navigate his way back to his bedroom on his own and she was totally unaware.
The stairs are a veritable mine-field. Every step is a danger to Hubby. He never descends to the lower level without a spotter walking below him to be sure that he does not fall.
It was all my fault. Really, it was. Bad decisions create bad results. When she began her shift at our home, she had already been working a full day and had an event in the evening. Apparently, she was exhausted and thus fell into a deep sleep unaware of what was happening around her. I wanted to be angry. I am fighting off what I suspect is walking pneumonia and do not have enough energy even to get mad!
How can one get angry when someone does not wake up when they are needed? I have read reports of doctors and nurses working 36-hour shifts during the Covid epidemic, being so exhausted that they fell into a deep sleep, and they too did not awaken when their patients were in crisis.
This is similar, except for one important difference. This was avoidable. I should not have allowed Miss. F. to come to us so late at night. Hence, it was my fault entirely. (In all candor, I did resent paying her for her non-service. Still, she has been excellent in the past and I will undoubtedly need her in the future… so it was time to bite my tongue.)
Caring for another human being is an immense responsibility. When we are young and have children, we are better equipped to make the necessary choices and bounce back easily from our mistakes. I need to face facts. My ball no longer bounces.
