Do you ever feel like it just can't get any worse?
I have.
Last week.
My husband has been awaiting knee surgery for a long, pain filled, sleepless month.
That means I've been waiting too, caring for the pain (his pain, not him!) and not sleeping for a month.
The night before the surgery was the worst.
The pain, not simply in his knee, but whole body pulsed at a rate that kept us both up all night and I kept trying to encourage him, "Hang in there babe, you're on the home stretch. Only a few more hours and this will be over."
When he wasn't looking, I secretly went in the bathroom and cried.
I was exhausted.
I felt helpless.
I couldn't stand to see him in severe pain anymore.
(Did I mention that we also had 2 little girls up most of the night, crying, scared for their Daddy and scared that they wouldn't see me in the morning when they woke up! - Um, if you never go to sleep, then you don't need to worry about not seeing me when you wake up! I lost my patience with them around 2am. "This isn't about you! I have to take care of Daddy. You're fine.")
Once we got to the hospital at 5:45am, I exhaled. This was all going to end shortly.
Praise God.
After surgery prep, an IV, a chat with the anesthesiologist, a talk with the surgeon, I kissed him goodbye and they wheeled him away.
I turned to lounge in the luxurious waiting area and heard, "Mrs. Newquist, wait."
I turned around and saw them putting my husband back in a room.
"I'm so sorry, we don't have it."
Um, have what?
The surgeon didn't like the cadaver ligament they had to put in my husband's knee.
Surgery was canceled.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
We'd have to wait one more agonizing day.
St. Patty's was celebrated with surgery and a great new ligament!
Finally we were on the other side.
Hobbling from the car to our bedroom, my husband looked out our front window and saw the grass that now was forming a small jungle.
He hasn't been able to keep up for sometime because of the pain.
"We're going to have to hire someone to mow the lawns, I can't do it," he told me.
I have.
Last week.
My husband has been awaiting knee surgery for a long, pain filled, sleepless month.
That means I've been waiting too, caring for the pain (his pain, not him!) and not sleeping for a month.
The night before the surgery was the worst.
The pain, not simply in his knee, but whole body pulsed at a rate that kept us both up all night and I kept trying to encourage him, "Hang in there babe, you're on the home stretch. Only a few more hours and this will be over."
When he wasn't looking, I secretly went in the bathroom and cried.
I was exhausted.
I felt helpless.
I couldn't stand to see him in severe pain anymore.
(Did I mention that we also had 2 little girls up most of the night, crying, scared for their Daddy and scared that they wouldn't see me in the morning when they woke up! - Um, if you never go to sleep, then you don't need to worry about not seeing me when you wake up! I lost my patience with them around 2am. "This isn't about you! I have to take care of Daddy. You're fine.")
Once we got to the hospital at 5:45am, I exhaled. This was all going to end shortly.
Praise God.
After surgery prep, an IV, a chat with the anesthesiologist, a talk with the surgeon, I kissed him goodbye and they wheeled him away.
I turned to lounge in the luxurious waiting area and heard, "Mrs. Newquist, wait."
I turned around and saw them putting my husband back in a room.
"I'm so sorry, we don't have it."
Um, have what?
The surgeon didn't like the cadaver ligament they had to put in my husband's knee.
Surgery was canceled.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
We'd have to wait one more agonizing day.
St. Patty's was celebrated with surgery and a great new ligament!
Finally we were on the other side.
Hobbling from the car to our bedroom, my husband looked out our front window and saw the grass that now was forming a small jungle.
He hasn't been able to keep up for sometime because of the pain.
"We're going to have to hire someone to mow the lawns, I can't do it," he told me.
"I can do it! I'll mow the lawns," I offered.
I figured the money we'd spend on a gardener could be applied to a nice pedicure or manicure for me!
He looked at me like, "there is no way you can mow the lawns!"
Um, EXCUSE ME?
My girls agreed, "Mommy, you can't mow the lawns. You've never done that. Daddy mows the lawns."
"You just watch your mother rock that lawn mower!" I told them all.
I suited up, and was totally empowered to fire that baby up and squeeze the handle as the mower jumped into action!
I was doing it!
I was mowing the lawn!
First time in my whole life!
I had the large green trash can handy as I had to stop frequently and empty the grass clippings as it was way over grown.
Finally finished, I swept the sidewalks, hosed down the patio and lined the trash cans along the curb for the morning pick up.
I felt like I had conquered the world!
The following evening my next manly duty came as it was time to bring in the empty trash cans.
I've done this job before, many times, but this time was a little different.
As I stood on the curb, holding onto the big blue can, I kicked the bottom to get it on it's wheels.
When I did, the open lid rested on the top of the curb and as I stepped down, I stepped on the lid, launching the can into the air and me with it.
My head hit the can hard just before I hit the asphalt.
Pain instantly took my breath away as I quickly got up to make it in the house before I began to feel the weight of what just happened.
I hobbled into the bedroom, out of breath, shaking and crying, where my husband was resting.
Let's just flash forward to 5 hours later when I returned home from Urgent Care, checked for a concussion and 4 hand x-rays!
The knuckles on my left hand looked like hamburger and I had a knot the size of a lime on my forehead.
I guess this Moma just wasn't cut out for manual labor.
As a few days passed, I started to see my face turn different shades of the rainbow.
"Can you see the black and blue starting to surround my eye?," I asked my husband.
"Not really," he said.
Hmmm I called the kids in,
"Can you see Mommy's back eye?"
"No Mommy."
WHAT? Where was my sympathy?
I became desperate and even asked the guy at Trader Joes!
He told me he just came from Urgent Care as he cut his wrist at work (accidentally!)
I commiserated with him and shared my story, ending with, "Can you see my black eye?"
"No, not really."
COME ON PEOPLE!!
It was like that dumb dress, did you see black and blue or white and gold?
Apparently people just couldn't see my black and blue!!!
Well, it would only be a few more short days until I would find what I was looking for -
my son came in holding his ear, "My ear hurts Mommy."
It was after hours, so I took him to Urgent Care.
When they called us back, a familiar nurse glanced at me and asked, "How is your hand? Oh, and it looks like you now have a black eye!"
YES! She saw it!
I'm not crazy.
And, I think I hit my limit on hospitals and Urgent Care visits for the year!
Um, EXCUSE ME?
My girls agreed, "Mommy, you can't mow the lawns. You've never done that. Daddy mows the lawns."
"You just watch your mother rock that lawn mower!" I told them all.
I suited up, and was totally empowered to fire that baby up and squeeze the handle as the mower jumped into action!
I was doing it!
I was mowing the lawn!
First time in my whole life!
I had the large green trash can handy as I had to stop frequently and empty the grass clippings as it was way over grown.
Finally finished, I swept the sidewalks, hosed down the patio and lined the trash cans along the curb for the morning pick up.
I felt like I had conquered the world!
The following evening my next manly duty came as it was time to bring in the empty trash cans.
I've done this job before, many times, but this time was a little different.
As I stood on the curb, holding onto the big blue can, I kicked the bottom to get it on it's wheels.
When I did, the open lid rested on the top of the curb and as I stepped down, I stepped on the lid, launching the can into the air and me with it.
My head hit the can hard just before I hit the asphalt.
Pain instantly took my breath away as I quickly got up to make it in the house before I began to feel the weight of what just happened.
I hobbled into the bedroom, out of breath, shaking and crying, where my husband was resting.
Let's just flash forward to 5 hours later when I returned home from Urgent Care, checked for a concussion and 4 hand x-rays!
The knuckles on my left hand looked like hamburger and I had a knot the size of a lime on my forehead.
I guess this Moma just wasn't cut out for manual labor.
As a few days passed, I started to see my face turn different shades of the rainbow.
"Can you see the black and blue starting to surround my eye?," I asked my husband.
"Not really," he said.
Hmmm I called the kids in,
"Can you see Mommy's back eye?"
"No Mommy."
WHAT? Where was my sympathy?
I became desperate and even asked the guy at Trader Joes!
He told me he just came from Urgent Care as he cut his wrist at work (accidentally!)
I commiserated with him and shared my story, ending with, "Can you see my black eye?"
"No, not really."
COME ON PEOPLE!!
It was like that dumb dress, did you see black and blue or white and gold?
Apparently people just couldn't see my black and blue!!!
Well, it would only be a few more short days until I would find what I was looking for -
my son came in holding his ear, "My ear hurts Mommy."
It was after hours, so I took him to Urgent Care.
When they called us back, a familiar nurse glanced at me and asked, "How is your hand? Oh, and it looks like you now have a black eye!"
YES! She saw it!
I'm not crazy.
And, I think I hit my limit on hospitals and Urgent Care visits for the year!
That was quite the ordeal! But I thoroughly enjoyed reading your great account of it all. The Trader Joe thing actually made me laugh out loud. I hope that you all heal soon.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry to say I laughed. Hang in there, Raeanne! God is good. :)
ReplyDeleteInteresting and eventful post! I remember my first experience with Urgent Care. Intelligently enough, one day I felt the need to practice soccer in my backyard, but I hadn't realized the wind had blown the ball over. When I ran forward to kick the ball next thing I knew I was driving my foot into a rock.
ReplyDelete