Step 27: Cross some thresholds.

Thresholds. That bump you step over when a door opens. The point at which something new starts to happen. Sometimes a barrier. Sometimes a welcome.

On May 23, 2024, my husband, Jim Gallagher, entered the E.R. he worked in for 15 years, this time as a patient.  Within days he was fighting for his life as an infection that began in his foot raged throughout his body, and on June 4th, his leg was amputated below the knee in order to save his life.  This is an ongoing log of our journey.

Cross some new thresholds.

January is a natural reflection point for looking back and looking forward. As the calendar turns and the landscape becomes icy, I'm looking back at the last eight months, the ones marked by the changes brought about when Jim got sepsis. In that same timeframe, three of our acquaintences died of sepsis, which makes every forward step, no matter how small, feel like holy ground. And so we pause right here to acknowledge the privilege of each new step Jim gets to take.

Two weeks ago Jim crossed a threshold.

This time I mean an actual, honest-to-goodness, physical, front-door threshold. And it's kind of a big deal.

Entering homes has always been a barrier for Jim, because there is nearly always a stoop and a threshold to conquer. Doing this in a wheelchair requires ad hoc communal engineering that generally involves boards standing in as an impromptu ramp, maybe some rocks supporting those sagging boards, and the questionable heave-hoing of a sixty-something wife wrestling him over the threshold backwards and through the door.  It’s an awkward transition at best. 

Thresholds were, therefore, barriers, and the effort required to surmount them kept Jim from entering a home other than his own.[i]

If you love people, as Jim does, entering homes is rather important.  It’s also important if you happen to be selling your home, and looking for your next place to live!  Jim has been un-enthusiastic about doing this due to the cumbersome nature of crossing thresholds, but a couple of weeks ago Jim said, “Come on; let’s go!”  And we ventured out to try a few houses on for size. 

Once you cross a threshold, you leave one world behind and step into a new dimension.

At the first house, Jim waved away the wheelchair and asked for the walker.  Then he rose up out of the car on his own, grabbed the walker, and slowly, carefully walked himself to the door, up a step and over the threshold. 

I hovered like a nervous mother, watching for failure in that right knee, but Jim made the transition fine, and just kept going!  Once you cross a threshold, you leave one world behind and step into to a new dimension.  The ability to do this one, simple thing opens so many doors, figuratively and literally.

It's Jim's physical therapy and our daily walks at home with the walker that are paying off. Progress is born from hard work and tedium and pain.

Our daily walks look a little like an amateur parade, with Jim in the lead, wearing his prosthesis and pushing the walker. I follow behind like a trailer, holding onto his gait belt and matching my step to his, watching Shorty (that's the current cowboy name for Jim's right leg, the one amputated below the knee) to see if the knee will lock and hold his weight.  Lefty, the hard-working, fully-operational left leg, leads the charge and runs the show. Behind us walk our two Labradors, Oakley and Emmy, matching their cadence to our slow one. 

This loving little parade must be quite comical to watch, particularly now, as Oakley is sporting a large “Elizabethan collar” (i.e., cone), and looks very much like a mobile satellite dish, or maybe a giant limpet.  Nonetheless each parade is a small victory, and we are building confidence and strength and skill. Lefty is strong and muscular now, and Shorty, though still missing some nerve function, seems to be gaining a bit of ground, and the lift-move-lock action usually goes pretty smoothly. And is it my imagination, or is Shorty's muscle also beginning to grow?

More new steps:

Jim also works on standing without any support at all. The first time I saw him standing frozen with his arms out as if reaching for something that wasn’t there, I caught my breath, thinking perhaps a slow-motion fall was in play.  But no, he was simply practicing standing without support.

Gradually his legs are gaining strength and coordination and balance, and gradually I begin to relax my nervous watchfulness, too.

Last week we returned to see the good folks at Summit Prosthetics, who crafted the

prosthesis for Jim.  Jim periodically returns and demonstrates his walking with the help of parallel bars so the technician can observe and see if any fit adjustments are needed.  Jim walked confidently and steadily, and Shorty was remembering to lock with each step.

“Jim,” I interrupted, “can you walk at all without holding on?” 

Jim paused for a quick second, and then, hands hovering above the rails, he walked the last four steps, without holding on!  He’s not ready to do that regularly yet, but we are closer to that goal than we knew.  Just you wait; one of these days you’ll see him with crutches, maybe a cane, and then—who knows!

What season are you currently in?

As the partner standing by, I'm also crossing new thresholds, too, albeit metaphorical ones. I get the hang of the stage we are in, but then things change, and I need to learn a new role and adjust my stride.

Kendra Adachi’s recent Lazy Genius podcast, “How to Live in Your Season (Without Resenting It)”, was timely for me, and I set about asking myself this question at her suggestion: "What season are you currently in?" As Jim changes, my season changes, too.

Looking back I can identify four changes of “season” since Jim first grew ill.

The first was crisis mode, which was all about meeting and cheating death.  For me that meant living alone, standing by, thinking a thousand scary thoughts, having power only over me and the dogs.  All the house/home/family responsibilities slid silently into my column, and it was all too much.  But God met me there, walked with me, made Himself known, and I learned I could do it if I slipped my hand in His and borrowed His strength, and named the truth of what was happening.  This also became a season of connection with my community as many of you reached out through prayer and encouragement or help.  I was seen, helped, prayed for, and loved.  I survived.  And more importantly, Jim survived.

Next came Jim’s re-entry into our home, but as an entirely different person, physically speaking.  I was so grateful to have him home, but I lost my autonomy almost entirely, being the foremost caretaker and servant to the Love of my life, who was extremely painful and weak during this season.  Those weeks were full of adrenaline and worry and work for me, and I was also responsible for getting the house ready to sell.  I lost myself a bit in this phase, nursed resentment, slowly accepted what I didn’t want, flailed around at drawing those mysterious but important boundaries, and was grateful for what was accomplished. It was exhausting, filled with work and critical decisions I felt I must make on my own.  For weeks I failed to sleep through a single night.  But I also delighted in having my man home, delighted in our “new” old house, and nursed a dream of better things to come.

The third season was one of progress.  Here Jim made distinct forward steps of healing and growth, and there was more time for Kathy to re-emerge and find scraps of time to think and find myself.  Jim's immobility meant being mostly at home, which was sometimes isolating.  But we slowly gained the ability to travel once strength was gained and the prosthesis became part of our toolkit.  We began to adventure, not just survive.  This was a hopeful season, and even our busyness looked different, with therapies and physical progress rewarding our tiredness.  It felt at last like permission to live, celebrate, and look forward. 

But that’s where it got tangled.  We disagreed on nearly every future scenario.  We didn’t have all the data we needed to plan for a future, like how much money we would have available to spend, or what Jim’s abilities would be.   Our house was on the market, but there was little movement.  In this season we dared to dream a little, but the dead ends and unknowns made the steps for moving forward frustrating and unclear.

Wind can knock you over if you’re not braced for it. 

And now I’m seeing a season change again, like a page turning.  The winds of change are blowing. 

Wind can knock you over if you’re not braced for it.  But if you are aware and ready, change is exciting, stirring, captivating.  Prompted by Kendra’s wisdom, I sat down with my journal to ask the right questions, name the obstacles, set my priorities, and discover the possibilities. 

My next season is likely to include rediscovering some independence incrementally, and also to require coming together around our future.  Changes in our bodies, our spirits, and also in “place” lie ahead. We will be challenged with the need for sensitivity to one another in this season, and the discipline of listening for God’s voice, and finding that elusive combination of caution and abandon.

I encourage you to evaluate the season you are in, too, and will share my journal prompts at the end of this article for you to use.

And a little baby threshold, too.

Thanks for sticking with me until the end.  As your reward, I have one last threshold to name, a small one, but one that will launch a whole new season of change.

On 1/21/2025 Jim and I both started new jobs.  We now work for Theodore Rey Gallagher.  Our titles are Grandpa and Grandma!

It all takes one step, one threshold, one beautiful season at a time.

. . . . . . . . . .

Name Your Season

Here are some journal prompts for exploring the season you are currently in. Quotes are from Kendra Adachi's podcast, which you can access here:  #401 How to Live in Your Season (Without Resenting It) — The Lazy Genius

What season have you just left behind?

“Describe the season you currently find yourself in.”

What questions do you have about this season?

Kendra Adachi says, “Good is here right now.”  No matter how messy this season is, what is the good that is here, right now, in this season?

What are the challenges?

 “Every season is making you more of who you already are.”  Who are you?

How is this season making you more of who you believe God calls you to be? 

If you were to name this season, what would you call it?

“Growth is beautiful because it is hard.”  What does this Kendra

Adachi quote bring to your mind?

What is hard about the season you're in right now?

“Stop comparing your season to someone else’s.”  Is there anything else that needs to be acknowledged about the season you’re in, or the calling you’ve been given?

Looking back at your questions about this season, and pray about the things that spark either joy or fear.

What is most important in this current season?

What is most important TODAY?

Write out an honest prayer to God about the season you are in.

[i] One of the many “sovereignty and foreknowledge of God” moments that took place years before Jim’s disability was that we poured a sloped garage floor, so we avoid the awkward threshold and simply wheel him in from the garage without a threshold or a ramp!