I, like many of us, I suspect, am not very good at asking for help - though perhaps, with me in my fourth week of putting no weight on my broken ankle, Betsy might not find that statement to ring quite true right now!
No, most of us prefer to maintain our independence; I can do it, whether in large things or small. I walk into the kitchen to find Betsy, wielding our three-foot long 'grabber', or standing precariously on a step-stool, reaching for an item on the top shelf.
'Why didn't you call me? I can reach it,' I say from my lofty height of a slowly shrinking 5'6''.
'I know,' she shrugs, 'but I can do it.'
Our general reluctance to ask for help seems strange, given the fact that we humans are apparently programmed to offer it. We have an innate need to help our fellow beings. If you don't believe me, go and buy a five dollar pair of battered old crutches at the thrift shop, keep one knee bent double, and go hop around the store for a while. You will have more offers of assistance than you know what to do with. Frequently, faced with disasters, our urge to help is stronger, apparently, than either the fight or flight response. How often do we witness live scenes on TV where so many people ignore the risk of toppling buildings in order to help those already in trouble.
Our general reluctance to ask for help seems even stranger, given the fact that giving yourself up completely to the power of those who wish to help you, is one of the most rewarding experiences in life. Once Betsy and I had gazed at my still-swelling ankle for long enough and come to the reluctant conclusion that Urgent Care was the only option, and I had hopped on our old crutches to the car, I let go of all pretense of self-determination. I relaxed completely. I sat contentedly in the car as she parked and then went off in search of a wheelchair from the Kaiser lobby, returned with it and assisted me in. By this time I had reached an almost rag-doll stage of relaxation. Nothing complicated remained to do. Just follow orders: sign here, wait there, sit here, put you leg up here, place your foot there. Just relax, they kept saying, and effortlessly I complied. I was carried away on a comforting cloud of caring. The only decision I was called upon to make was the color of my cast.
After almost five weeks of Betsy would you just ...... and Betsy can you fetch .... I suppose my faithful caregiver has had enough. More than enough. That basic human need to offer help and support to others can run pretty thin pretty fast. She denies this, however, and says she is not in any way tired of being my helper. She'd better be careful with statements like that, as I find I could happily float along on my comforting cloud of care indefinitely. But something tells me I had better be over it before the snow hits the ski slopes - and My Beautiful Betsy with it!
© September 2016
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