Holding Hands

I have found that it can be the simplest things that end up meaning so much.  How about holding hands?  It is pretty simple, don’t you think.  Yet yesterday and as I remembered what would have been my 39^th wedding anniversary, I thought about how Bill and I held hands whenever we went out together.  Years ago, he held pinky fingers.  In later years we switched to holding hands.

Bill had been on home IV therapy for several weeks receiving a strong antibiotic.  Most of the antibiotics used to treat CF lung infections have long term side affects.  This one morning Bill got up out of bed and the room started spinning so badly he could not stand.  He had to lie back down on the bed.  A few minutes later he very slowly got back up to see if the problem had resolved itself.  Thankfully he was fine and went about his day.  However, a few days later he again got out of bed as usual and he could not stand due to the dizziness.  This time the dizziness did not go away.  Apparently, this antibiotic is notorious for causing permanent inner ear damage.  It would usually cause tinnitus (ringing in the ears), but for Bill it was Nystagmus.  He called it dizziness, but it was actually a situation where everything bounced and he could not focus on anything because it was constantly bouncing up and down.  This prevented him from being able to even stand up.  For three weeks he stayed in bed unable to stand. These antibiotics have a cumulative affect on the body.  Whatever side affects you develop each time you take the antibiotic they continue to build on themselves adding to the last time.  If you develop tinnitus it worsens and can/will cause permanent hearing loss.  If you are dizzy, it will get worse.

Finally, in the fourth week of being completely incapacitated Bill slowly got out of bed and decided he was going to find a way to get back into life.  He could not accept that he would just have to lie in bed the rest of his life.  After researching the condition he found that there were groups of people who suffered the same situation and did brain retraining exercises to adjust to the imbalance.  Most of the information he read said, get up and go out every single day, do the exercises several times a day and force the brain to compensate for the imbalance. Slowly over the next several months he improved.  We went out everyday.  Bill went back to work everyday.  We thought he would never drive again, but after three months he insisted on beginning to drive. I was terrified, but he did it and did very well.  He was determined this was not going to get the best of him. When he would veer "off course" at home he would just slide his shoulder down the wall so he didn't have to stop.  I encouraged him to just stop and stand still to get his balance back and then start again.  This became his pattern - stop and go.

From that point on our hand holding became permanent whenver we were out.  I became his steering mechanism. Bill was embarrassed that he could not walk straight.  For months he weaved every which direction trying to stay upright.  I would just take his hand and gently keep him straight, pulling him back to my side or pushing him back away.  It actually became part of our family silliness.

One time Bill was out to lunch with his boss and dear friend.  He knew all that had happened with Bill for many many years.  As they walked across the parking lot Bill started  veering off course and his boss who was a good bit taller reached around him and pressed his finger on his shoulder and without missing a bit "I think you want to go this way".  They laughed all through lunch and told the story many times over the years.

Bill was very concerned about taking clients to lunch and walking of course and getting embarrassed.  It finally happened one day.  Bill politely told the client, "I'll be back over there in a second."  He realized he would have to explain and thankfully the client was understanding and laughed along too.

Ever so slowly Bill improved, and we continued to always hold hands.  Sometimes he would just want to walk ahead or we weren’t close enough to hold hands right away after getting out of the car.  Bill would start to walk across a parking lot by my side and all of a sudden he would veer off to the right.  I would ask him very casually "Where ya goin?" and he would respond, "Checking out the scenery" or "Taking a detour", but gradually curving back to where he intended to be.  We laughed and laughed.

I thought this second wedding anniversary spent without him might be easier.  It was not. I miss my dizzy friend.  

Most of all, I loved holding his hand.