To My Dear Husband

My sweet wife. I’d walk through Hell for her, so taking care of kids and a sick lady aren’t really asking much. In less than 2 weeks, she leaves to go cross country to her second brain surgery. A dear and trusted old friend will be accompanying her to this engagement in my stead, but when you have a choice of a humble farmer and a medical researcher as your options, you don’t make the emotional choice. Plus, my spine has become so erratic with weather changes that I might risk ending up trying to make sense through a migraine while evaluating a brain surgeon.

Somehow, this woman still loves me and does not see my shortcomings.

When I got out of the Army, I had been on crutches for a year and been to Walter Reed twice. I had a paper in my pocket that we called ‘The No-Breathing-Hard’ profile that said I wasn’t to stand for longer than five minutes. I was retaught how to walk and issued a cane.

When I got out, I ditched all of that and lived my life. I walked for miles. I carried my own body weight in Merry-Go-Round horses for a summer. I carried weights in the top of a theater and threw road boxes around.

I keep this show on the road when I keep moving. This sedate home-care stuff has to be, at least, part of the problem. When I stop, I fall back apart.

Today was my birthday, and I wished on my 38 candles to get moving again.

Gypsy Rue

Today is my husband’s birthday. This year, like every year he said to not buy him gifts or bake him treats. I bought a couple gifts anyhow, and I looked forward to making him one of his favorite desserts. We are on a tight budget due to my brain surgery in Pittsburgh in exactly 2 weeks, but our pantry is full and I was exciting about making something just for him.

Instead I came face to face again with my disorder, disability, non-stop pain and the exhaustion so all encompassing that it becomes it’s own entity- the ghost owner with the switchblade stabbing into my right ear with each beat of my heart takes it one step farther and presses the fast forward button on my anxiety as well. I find myself awake, pleading with my body to shut down and nap for at least a short time, so I…

View original post 849 more words

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “To My Dear Husband

  1. I love you with all my heart, sweet husband. I want my brain surgery to stop my pain so that we can concentrate on finding a way to ease your pain. Three years ago when I asked you to quit your job for a couple months, neither of us imagined that my terrible pain would become so bad, and that there would be so many fingers crossed, breath held for each of the past three surgeries. I never thought your pain would become a daily constant. This brain surgery has to work. It breaks my heart to see you wince in pain- often the only way I know which days are your worst.

    I can’t wait until I’m back in the kitchen, feeding everyone meals they may or may not like, and making enough new desserts that we’ll actually have to get to walking the dog to burn off the extra calories!

    I continue to hope I’ll find some way to ease your pain with my kitchen witch remedies, but I know that’s like applying a bandage to a broken leg. I hate feeling helpless and unable to fix our bodies.

    I am so sad about leaving you and the girls for 9 days, but I have to believe this surgery will be the one that works. I want to weep at the thought of being away so long, but remind myself this surgery has a good success rate, unlike all the others.

    I love you so much! I wanted your birthday to be a wonderful day to distract us somewhat from the pain. Instead my pain incapacitated me, and you saved the day by buying your own birthday cake. I envy the way you can roll with the punches. I dream of the day we wake up and discover that the pain in my ear and the pain in your spine and pain are well and truly gone. That day is going to be a new holiday for our family!

    P.S. You’re right, I don’t see your shortcomings. I love you always!

    • Oh my sweet wife. I didn’t see this comment until I wandered on here to ponder the odds the surgeon gave you. One in five. 20%.

      I can’t lose you. I love you. I wish I was there with every fiber of my being.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s