As soon as I woke up, my body revolted. My hip somehow fell out of place again, making each movement painful. I eased out of bed straight to the bottle of ibuprofen and Icy Hot. In a few hours, I would feel better, but it would be brutal until my muscles loosened up. The walk to the living room felt like a mile. I grunted and groaned with each step.
I sat on a heating pad in my recliner and wondered how I would get through my morning routine in this pain. After twenty minutes of heat therapy and Bible devotional, I stood to wake up my children. I hobbled down the stairs to my teenage son’s bedroom. With an exacerbation in my voice, he knew I needed help with the pets and my usual morning chores.
Then I crawled up the steps and made my way to my daughter Jaycee’s room. Jaycee is my 17-year-old with Down syndrome. I took her off her bi-pap machine. Then, I helped Jaycee dress and explained that momma was hurting. Using simple words, I let Jaycee know that I needed her help.
Help is something that I am accustomed to giving her. I have been caring for my daughter all her life. She has always been on medications, always. For the majority of her life, daily use of bi-pap, nebulizers, and vest therapy machines has been a necessity. Beyond that, there are daily tasks needed for any child who needs extra attention.
Even at 17, Jaycee requires quite a bit of attention and care. Still, there are things she is progressing on and showing her ability to do on her own. I’m proud of the gains she is making even though she still requires the supervision you may give to a younger child.
Back that morning, my hip throbbed with pain as I attempted to get dressed. I had to face the reality that I needed help with my socks. My son would be grossed out by touching his mom’s feet. With my husband at work, Jaycee was the only person in the house left to recruit. I explained that I couldn’t bend over and needed her help. Without hesitation, Jaycee complied with my request. She smiled all through the process.
I thought back to all the years I slipped socks on her feet. When she was a baby, those little toes nestled into the pinkest, smallest socks. As a child, I slipped on socks with various characters on her feet until she mastered the skill herself. Multiple times, I put ugly, nonslip socks onto her feet as she lay in a hospital bed, sick with various respiratory viruses. Time and time again, I helped her do this task when she was unable.
Now, Jaycee was doing this task for me for the first time ever.
It was a beautiful thing that was over in less than a minute, but I gained a new perspective.
I am an aging 40-something woman who occasionally has a wonky hip. My daughter, despite her delays, may have to assist me once in a while. It’s a bizarre situation for a caregiver to find herself in. I am not supposed to be the one who needs help. For me, caring and giving happens regardless of how I feel.
Yet maybe that’s not right. As Jaycee grows, I see how we can help each other. She can do things to help not only me but our family. She enjoys helping, and it is good for me to see her contribute to our family. That is what all family members do, after all—contribute to the household in some way.
After Jaycee finished pulling on my socks and straightening them for me, I stepped into my slip-on shoes. She looked concerned as she watched me walk to the door in pain. I kissed her on the head and told her I would be fine in a few hours. I thanked her and my son for helping me.
The following morning, my hip pain returned with a vengeance, but I knew who I could rely on for help.
Evana is a wife and mother of two children. She enjoys serving in her church’s special-needs ministry. Evana is also a pediatric speech-language pathologist and serves children with autism, feeding disorders, and other developmental delays. You can connect with Evana on Twitter, Facebook, and her blog, A Special Purposed Life. You can also read more about her family’s story in her book, Badges of Motherhood: One Mother’s Story about Family, Down syndrome, Hospitals, and Faith.
