Mother’s work is indeed never done

An old saying I think carries powerful psychological implications is “A mother’s work is never done.”

Many married men with children fall into the trap of failing to appreciate the role wives play. A woman with a child to care for frequently becomes a chauffeur, short-order cook, tutor, seamstress, counselor, referee, banker (often assuming the role of loan officer who never gets repaid) and even doctor. There must be a hundred other roles wives assume that I can’t recall at this point.

My own wonderful wife recently was thrust into a role that would have made my colleagues in medicine consider accepting her for part-time help. The scenario started at 3 a.m. with our 7-year-old daughter. She came into our bedroom crying with an earache and saying she couldn’t breathe.

I will grant you that Noelle, my daughter, seems to have a low tolerance for pain and discomfort. In fact, she seems to relate rather well to the story in which a whole pile of mattresses on a bed didn’t keep a princess for experiencing discomfort from the pea at the bottom of the pile.

Our family has tried to keep compassion for Noelle’s complaints within reasonable limits, but she is the youngest and the only girl. With two older brothers there seems to be a tendency for her complaints to be most difficult to ignore.

As she aroused us from sleep, I fumbled for the light switch, but my wife had already swung into action. She emerged from the bathroom with ear oil, antihistamine and decongestant. During the next 10 minutes or so I marveled at her bedside manner and how the suggestions she made to my daughter about the treatment she was receiving closely resembled superb hypnotic suggestion. As the three of us returned to slumber, I reminded myself again how glad I am not to be a single-parent family.

Her next medical challenge came with the return of our 19-year-odl from college. Having been through a year of dormitory life, final exams and a few late night farewells, he complained rather strongly of chronic fatigue and insomnia.

She quickly and accurately diagnosed the problem, pointing out to him how his weight and sleep patterns had come to resemble that of a swing-shift employee at a 24-hour truck stop. As she began to outline a change in sleeping and eating patterns, he responded with the predictable excuses that a freshman in a college dorm away from home for the first time might make. I hope her suggestions did not fall on deaf ears, but only time will help him see the folly in his current lifestyle.

A third situation became a crisis when our 16-year-old discovered a rather large tick had embedded itself firmly in his left shoulder blade. In an attempt to dislodge the blood engorged intruder, he dismembered the creature, but left the head firmly embedded. To make matters worse, the family had just watched a movie wherein young boys had found themselves covered with leeches after a swim through a swamp.

Needless to say, the episode produced mild hysteria. But at this point Blakie, my wife, assumed direction of a surgical team. My older son held the flashlight at the spot where the tick was; I sat on my son’s lower extremities to keep him from kicking the surgeon as she excised the tick with a sharp sterilized needle from the sewing box.

Operation over, the surgeon swept from the scene to assume other motherly duties. The remaining team was left with the dressing of the wound.

She had one parting remark that night. She said she was glad she didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to deliver a baby, as her medical experiences had left her quite exhausted.

The moral of the story is obvious. Fathers and husbands, do not take your wives for granted. Praise them a lot, and send them out for a first-aid course the next time one becomes available.

Harold H. LeCrone, Jr., Ph.D. Copyright 1987