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If I had gotten a “This Moment” post up last week, this is what the photo would’ve been. B is actually the one who took it, but it’s the only picture I have right now of E’s foot (because, you know, it’s hard to take a photo in this house which overflows with cameras).
He sent me a text message from his softball game on Wednesday, May 29th, saying he had hurt himself. I thought maybe he pulled a muscle or was pelted by a ball. When he finally got himself home and hobbled up the stairs, it was obvious something more was going on and I offered to drive him to the ER. He debated for a while (with me saying nothing but positive and encouraging things in the background like, “if it was me, you’d make me go!”) while he squirmed around in a great deal of pain and finally decided to just drive himself. He didn’t want to wake B and didn’t know how long it would be.
About an hour later, he sent me another message saying that they thought it was a ruptured or torn Achilles’ tendon. I told him that was pretty cool since that’s like a professional athlete injury. They splinted and wrapped his leg up and sent him home with crutches and a prescription for Vicodin, which we never ended up filling. The next morning, he went to work and spent most of the day on the phone with a surgery center making appointments, scheduling an MRI and, ultimately, scheduling surgery for the following Monday. They later moved it up to that Friday (the next day) and suddenly, my husband was going to be going under the knife less than 48 hours after his injury.
I’d like to say I handled it gracefully and stoically, but I didn’t. After I dropped him off at the surgery center and made a quick stop at the grocery store for some of his favorite foods, I went home and blubbered my way through the afternoon. My friend, A, talked to me on the phone for a while which I was so thankful for as I felt really very alone and scared and sad. Yes, I knew it was standard surgery, but my mind is good at going to dark places and I imagined him not waking up from the anesthesia or a major artery being nicked or something like that and me suddenly being a widow. Thankfully, my best friend’s mom who is also a nurse, came and sat with me while I waited. She actually listened to the surgeon when he finally came out to the waiting room (after being nearly an hour overdue for a surgery that was only expected to take an hour, which did nothing for my nerves) and remembered all the important details that my brain couldn’t quite grab at that point. She knew all of the right questions to ask the recovery room nurse and after we got E home, she went out and picked up his prescription and whatever else she thought he might need from the drug store. I can’t imagine not having had her help.
It’s been an exhausting week for all involved. E for just having to move around on crutches and being in pain. Me for having to do my normal household stuff along with most of his (though he is making a valiant effort to help out) as well as working and caring for B. It’s just been hard.
And this was a very long explanation for why I haven’t posted in over a week. 🙂 It’s going to be a l-o-n-g recovery….at least six months or more. But he should be off crutches in about a month, which will be a very good day for all of us!