Accepting a Helping Hand

As a doctor's wife you have to be independent. There's just no way around it. If you're the kind of person who needs constant attention from your significant other you are going to have to chose between making a change towards independence, absolute misery, or in the worst case divorce. It's a trait that isn't always easy, but absolutely necessary to make it through the long hours your Dr Husband works. However, there is such thing as too much indepenendence.

I have spent so many hours being strong for my husband, so that he didn't feel guilty that he had to study or work late, that I convinced myself I could do this alone. I didn't need neighbors to help watch my kids for a while. I didn't need ward members to invite us over for dinner because my husband was on-call. I didn't need help because that meant I was weak, needy, and pitiful. Somehow I managed to convince myself of this. 

In medical school it was EXTREMELY rare for me to accept any kind of help, yet alone ask for it. Once we hit residency I started to feel a little more comfortable with both the accepting and asking, but only as long as I felt that it wasn't a big deal (like having a friend pick up my oldest from preschool when my friend was already picking up her own daughter and had to drive by my house on her way home anyway). If the service was going to put anyone out in any way I wasn't okay with it. Well ladies and gentleman, the ghost of service present has come to visit and my heart has been changed. 

This past month Dr. Barton has been on a rotation three hours away with only one day off a week. This means he hasn't been home at all since it's just too far to drive here and back all in one day. I didn't think this would be all that much harder than the norm since he isn't around much anyway, but boy was I wrong. 

We were lucky to spend two whole weeks with him at his location since it also happens to be his home town. Grandma and Grandpa's house was a wonderful refuge for all of us, but eventually the littles and I had to head back to our reality of preschool, dance classes, church callings, and a first ever dance recital. It was rough. The littles were mad at me for taking them away from Dr Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa, so I was getting extra attitude from both of them. I came home to find mice had made their way into our garage and eaten my infant car seat that had been stored in there, and we had a good amount of snow dump on us (and this is after living in a warm, snow-less place for the last four years.... and driving a new van that I'm still getting used to.... and living on a hill.... and being in a place that apparently doesn't clear ANY streets when it snows. Can you spell disaster?) 

We returned at the busiest time possible. I had a lot on my plate without all the added chaos and not even twenty four hours after returning home I felt beaten down. That's when the love and tender mercies started pouring in. I found a care package filled with chocolates, nail polish, homemade sugar scrub, and a new book that a friend from medical school had sent to me (since she knew Dr. Barton was going to be gone for an extended time) as I was sitting in the Lowe's parking lot, in between dance classes and the ward Christmas party, waiting for my baby to wake up so I could buy mouse traps. This lead to a flood of tears, in the Lowe's parking lot. Feeling overwhelmed with all the activities on our calendar, cranky children, and the thought of dealing with mice, I could not have opened that act of love at a better time. 

At the ward Christmas party a sister in the ward saw me walk in late and alone with my two girls, made room for us at her table, and then proceeded to help me grab dinner for my girls so that I didn't have to juggle two toddlers and three plates by myself. Santa took the extra time to make my littles comfortable and happy so that we could snap a good picture to send to Dr. Dad. And another ward member rushed to my car to stay with my baby when they saw that after taking both littles out in the freezing cold and strapping them both in their car seats that my oldest suddenly had to go potty and pronto. 

When my girls fell asleep at 6:30 PM and didn't wake up shorty after like I expected them to, I asked a neighbor if she could head over to my house so that I could run to the store to buy ingredients for the Relief Society Christmas breakfast that was the early the next morning. Not only was she willing to do that, but she actually went shopping for me since she had to go to the store anyway.

A friend in the ward had her husband pick-up and drive my van down a slick, steep, windy hill when I didn't trust my snow-driving skills after the first real snowfall of the season. He then went a step further by walking over to our house (a good two blocks in 1* weather) to help me shovel our drive-way. 

Some friends from residency picked me up and took me as their third wheel to the residency Christmas party so that I didn't have to feel awkward going alone. They then stuck around after bringing me home to help me put my kiddos in bed and just talk for a while so that I wouldn't get lonely. 

After it continued to dump snow on us that night, I woke up Sunday morning to find all two feet of snow that had fallen overnight shoveled off my driveway by some Good Samaritan. And when I was under the weather and feeling unable to tackle church, people stepped in without hesitation to fill my callings. 

My visiting teacher insisted on watching my girls for me so that I could have some time to myself to do whatever I wanted. She was also willing to watch them a second day that same week so that I could take some final exams for school. 

There have been numerous other "small" acts that people have done for me in just the short amount of time we have been home and complelty fatherless, too many to add to this already long post. There is no way that I could have done all this without those helping hands and loving hearts. 

I have come to realize that being strong and independent doesn't mean doing it completely by yourself all the time. It means knowing when you do need the extra help, accepting it, and even asking for it, without hesitation. It does not make you weak, it makes you human. People aren't bestowing pity, they are sharing love. Let those helping hands into your home and into your heart. It will make your life so much better. 

- Clara B.