Bubba Time

Bubba time

Bubba: noun. 1. A name, usually for a male human; ex: “Hey, Bubba, C’mon over here!” 2. An endearment for a dog, male or female; ex: “Hey, Bubba, how ya doin’? C’mon over here!” 3. A title, or honorific, for a man who knows what he knows and is really good at it, and consequently, is very handy when you need that skill; ex: “Hey, Bubba, c’mon over here! I got a job for ya.”; 4. A description, usually used with an eye-roll, of a man being particularly thick about something; variation on definition 3; ex: “He’s being a real bubba about that.”    ----Deb’s Dictionary of Modern Descriptions

This is an article for guys, especially guys of a certain age.

Recently, a sports-playing friend of the Husband had to undergo major surgery. It was the first time he’d ever had major surgery, and he and the Husband spent a few days moving stuff around in his house to make it easier for him to move around once he was back from the hospital. I was vaguely aware of all that activity, but I’ve never met this particular friend, and pretty much let it all wash over me.

Then I happened to overhear a phone conversation two or three days before the surgery day. The friend was talking to the Husband about when his operation might start, and how he’d call the Husband once he knew the time so the Husband could take him up to the hospital, and then pick him up again the next day. When the conversation was over, the Husband repeated the information to me.

“So who’s staying with him after the operation?” I asked, curious that no family member was doing the transport.

“Oh, no one. His kids and sister are away,” the Husband told me.

OK; I knew the friend was no longer married, but this was new and alarming information. 

“Whoa, whoa whoa!” I started speaking loudly. “You mean they aren’t keeping him overnight in the hospital and no one’s staying with him? That’s completely unacceptable!” 

“He says he’ll be fine,” the Husband explained. “He says ---“

“GET THAT BUBBA ON THE PHONE!” I shouted. I was starting to get agitated. “I HAVE SOME THINGS TO SAY TO HIM!!”

Which he did; and I did, loudly. The essence of the conversation was that his insurance wouldn’t pay for a second overnight, and his adult son wasn’t able to come until the tail-end of the weekend and the other was also away, which meant he’d be on his own for the first three nights post-op. “I have a cell phone,” he said. “I have some frozen dinners I can stick in the microwave. They told me I wouldn’t have any pain so I’ll be fine.”

“Yup. They were lying to you,” I responded. “You can’t be alone for three nights after major surgery, it’s too dangerous. So start thinking who you can call, and don’t argue with me, because as the Husband will tell you, I’m almost always right. I will haunt you until you find someone, so unless you want another call like this, just do it. Now.” All of which is true.

The Husband, of course, was listening to all this. “You’re spending the first night at his house,” I said.

“OK,” he replied. 

 

“So start thinking who else can stay with him,” I insisted.

“There isn’t anyone,” the Husband said. “His family’s in northern VT and his sons are away.”

“What about the sports guys?” I said, starting to get loud again.

“They’re just sports buddies,” the Husband started to make excuses. “We just play together and sometimes have a meal together afterwards. They aren’t really close to him.”

“CALL THEM!”I was shouting again. And then I enumerated some of the many reasons he couldn’t be left alone, at least at night, for the days before his son would arrive. Which I will condense here, because men, as a race, don’t seem to be able to think of this stuff themselves:

•  Major operation. Lots of stuff sewed and screwed and glued back together. Lots of stuff that could, if he was unlucky, start bleeding, shifting, unstitching.

• Major operation. Possibility of blood clotting, bad reaction to drugs, more pain than they promised he’d feel.

•  Major operation. If he was to get up in the middle of the night in a major-operation-sequelae-induced stupor, and tripped --- big bad. Someone needs to be there to call 911.

• If he falls and his cell phone’s in his hand, it’s going to go flying to somewhere on the far side of the room, probably under the couch where he can’t reach it. If he’s stored it in his pocket and he falls on it, it’s going to be smashed beyond use. If he falls and breaks something – arm, leg, neck (don’t scoff, I know someone who broke his neck when he fell off the toilet at night because he fell back to sleep while he was sitting on it), he isn’t going to be in any condition to make that cell phone call. If he even remembered or bothered to carry it with him the few steps to the bathroom. And it didn’t land in the toilet or smash against the side of the tub.

·    That’s a few of the possibilities. What’s important to remember is that if someone’s there, and no awful thing happens, the worst outcome is that the friend staying there might not have slept as well as at home. But if something bad does happen, having someone else in the house could mean the difference between suffering hours of pain, and serious damage to the operation site until someone happens by, discovers the damage, and calls for help; or possibly even death. 

My bigger point is this: Bubbas – guys – you’ve got to start taking responsibility for each other. And you’ve got to be willing, when you need it, to tell your buddies, even if they’re just sports buddies, that you need some help.

This goes for all of us, especially as we don’t all have spouses, or family living near-enough-by, especially as we grow older. But I’m talking mostly to you bubbas, because I don’t know a woman who, under the same circumstances, wouldn’t have been overwhelmed with offers of help from other women – yoga class buddies, church group members, library board acquaintances, even friends who might have to take time off from work and travel a distance to be there. There would be someone staying with the patient the night before, checking in during the day of the operation, visiting the next day, cooking meals to store in the frig, doing house chores, welcoming the patient back with cookies and warm blankies, and someone, or several someones, lined up to be there for a week or more if necessary. These wouldn’t all necessarily be close, BFF friends.

So, guys – if what you’ve got is “just sports buddies” or just guys you know from the gym, or wherever you hang out – these guys are part of your tribe, and not only should you all be willing and able to ask for help when you need it, you should all be ready to offer help and physically be there when it’s necessary. Trust me, your spouses will get it if you have to be away a night or two to stay with a buddy in need. They might even make a casserole.

And if you, who happens to have a spouse or family nearby, is in a similar situation – the rest of you should still hop in there and offer help anyway. There may be gaps in coverage; maybe help with errands would be welcome; maybe the spouse is just not able to be a caretaker at that level. And sometimes just knowing there’s someone else to call on can be a major relief to the main caregiver.

Earlier this year, another one of these sports buddies suffered a heart attack during a game. EMTs came swiftly, he was fine. But no one there, playing the game or in the facility, knew CPR, and for a few days, they were all shaken. When the Husband came home from that game he was traumatized. 

Bubbas – here’s a plea: during some of those post-game lunches, have a few serious conversations about men’s care for your buds. Set up a CPR class for all you sports buddies at the sports place, and make sure everyone attends. Talk about how to handle a situation like the one that came up with the sports buddy this week. Let your hearts hang out; affirm your connections to each other; vow to be warriors in care of each other when need arises.

Yes, it’s ok to include – and call on – your female buddies, too, but chances are if you let them know what’s going on, you won’t have to ask for help, they’ll be there without you asking. And will probably bring soup.

To give credit where it’s due, the sports buddy managed to get the help he needed this week. His up-north sister’s coming for one night, one son got there for the first night, the Husband’s spending tonight, and then his other son will be here on Sunday. We expect that the worst thing that will happen is that a few people won’t get as good a night’s sleep as they might have at home, and the patient himself will be surprised at how very tired he is and how long it lasts.

As the Husband scrambled to help find help, one of the sports buddies stepped up to take the buddy to the hospital, and more wonderfully, three of the Husband’s buddies and acquaintances, who are total strangers to the sports buddy, also offered help. So even if you don’t know who to call – someone you know knows someone else. 

We’re all part of the same huge family, and we all owe aid and succor, when we can possibly give it, to all members of our larger family.  As the old folks would tell us, it’s a blessing to give, and a blessing to receive, and we shouldn’t be afraid to do both. When we ask for help, we open a precious space for blessings to the person who gives help. Cosmic brownie points, if you will.

But you bubbas need to become consciously aware, and have a plan. Bubba always has a plan, and that’s part of his success as a bubba.

Happy to be right about this. Let me know if you need me to clarify anything else.

For the blog, and all the Bubbas: October 25, 2019

Charley Freiberg photo: Autumn Clematis