Ana spends her days in the wheelchair now, she's really been staying off her foot this time; yet the ulcer still doesn't seem to be improving. Okay, says Ana, she'll ask the podiatrist about seeing a specialist. But it's Thursday now, she's got an appointment for next Tuesday, doesn't want to deal with it till then. I picked up a freebie magazine at the health food store the last time we went shopping; now I see it mentions aloe vera, says it's good for wounds. We have an aloe plant right in the kitchen. That night at bandage-changing time I cut off a piece of leaf and squeeze some of its greenish-yellow sap onto the ulcer.
By morning the aloe has stained Ana's skin a surprising dark purple, but the ulcer looks smaller, I think. I want to believe. For the next five days I faithfully use aloe twice a day instead of betadine. I say a silent little grateful prayer to the plant, which I've now moved to the bathroom, each time I cut off another bit of leaf. And now I can finally see the ulcer getting better; each morning, each night, there's more change. It's closing up.
On Tuesday the podiatrist confirms that the ulcer is much improved. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it," he tells Ana. Another two weeks and it'll be closed, he says.
To me this sounds like wonderful news, yet Ana is despondent. She hears the podiatrist's words as a sentence: another two weeks in jail, the jail that wheelchair is to her.
She's despondent; I'm angry. Her despondence makes me angry; my anger makes me despondent. We're trapped in a cycle where any small thing can set either of us off. Una gota más en un cuarto lleno de agua is Ana's description for this state. One more drop in a room already filled with water. "The straw that broke the camel's back?" I suggest, translating to an idiom I'm familiar with, and she agrees.
One morning she says, "I think when I go back to work I'll go full-time. My job isn't physically strenuous; I think I can handle it."
And I instantly rage inside, Sure you think you can handle it -- because you're so used to having me as your cook and maid! I grit my teeth and say calmly instead, "When you think about your energy, please keep in mind that I don't want to keep doing all the housework forever. Please factor that in." My faked calm sounds icy, and some tears bubble up halfway through my sentence. Ana doesn't respond. I drive to work fuming, I won't do it! I won't!
In December and January, when Ana's kidneys were failing fast, I had urged her over and over to cut her hours at work, go down to part time. "I'm not ready," she insisted. So I began getting up with her at five every morning; her body ache was so severe I had to soap her up and rinse her in the shower. As her energy lessened, she had to begin showering at night; if she tried to do it in the morning she'd be too exhausted to dress, even with my help. Downstairs I made her breakfast, packed a lunch for her; then she half-limped, half-staggered to the car. Driving itself wasn't too hard, but it took her 15 minutes just to walk across the street from the parking lot to the elevator, then down the hall to her office. Every morning when she got there she'd collapse behind her shut door and nap awhile. There were weeks of this, weeks while she clung to working full-time. Then in February, ostensibly because of the foot ulcer, she decided to stop working for two weeks, and never went back.
Oh yes, Ana's work ethic is noble, her will is astounding, but. But I don't intend to go through that again. If she doesn't have the energy to work full-time and do at least 50% of the housework and have some energy left over for me, she'll have to work part-time. I won't stand for anything less. My head is filled with a buzzing fury; I can hardly concentrate at work. I won't do it, I won't do it, I'm chanting inside.
I don't know what to do with so much anger.
Weeks later a therapist whom we've heard of through our transplant support group, a woman who had a liver transplant herself several years ago, sends me an article titled, "In Sickness and in Health: The Impact of Illness on Couples' Relationships". I cry as I read,