Of Feet and Things

My partner Joe has just snapped his Achilles' tendon.  It's very painful and totally disabling.  He will be wearing a cast for months, unable to drive and barely able to walk.

In an ideal life there would be plenty of spare capacity, so that this sort of disaster could be quickly accommodated, with good grace and a sense of humour.  Of course none of us actually live with that sort of capacity to spare.  For most of us, new demands mean an awkward period of readjustment, often affecting things that seem unrelated.

For example, there is a knock-on effect for Julie of her dad being suddenly incapacitated.   We have been spending a lot of time with her over the last few months, first as she recovered from a long hospital visit, and then supporting her into work.  There have been walks and meals, and long phone conversations.  Joe has done a great deal of the practical support, and kept the ship afloat while I was giving her emotional support.

Now concern for Julie has to compete with sorting out Joe.  There are a lot of practical concerns if you are sick and can't drive: getting to hospital, or work or having any sort of social life suddenly all require careful coordination.  Our world has suddenly become much more complex and demanding; it simply isn't possible to visit Julie as much, or spend quite as much time helping her.

And perhaps it will be a good thing in the long run.  Julie is really very capable, and wants to live independently.  Now that she has been working for a while, and successfully keeping out of hospital, it is not impossible that having her parents hovering around her is holding her back.  Perhaps it will be liberating: we will just have to hope so.