We're watching the final two episodes of Star Wars (we went in story order, not chronological order) tonight, which gives me time to update the ol' blogspheres. A good red blend is giving me the inclination. But as I ponder what I've done (read: haven't done) today, it gives rise to a clandestine photo from the comfy couch (I've been boycotting the BCC in celebration of not having to sleep in it).
We're both nerding it up on the interwebs (even while I type this with a soundtrack of Star Wars characters in the background, Mike is sending me shirts I can't live without he found on
This is Why I'm Broke - I'll use those to break up the writing for those of you who are only here for the
visual stimulation).
I need to brag on Mike for a bit tonight. He has been more incredible the past two weeks when I've been incapacitated than I could've even guessed or hoped for. My first memory is one of the first nights I moved from BCC to my own bed. I was still taking medication and therefore unable to walk straight. I'd fallen asleep before him due to pain killers, but woke up at 2 a.m. or so dreadfully early, and knew I wouldn't be able to make it downstairs for water on my own. I was forced to wake Mike up and explain grogigly to him what I needed.
"I already brought your water up; it's on your nightstand," he said half in his sleep. He anticipated my needs before I even knew what they were.
That's representative of what he's done for me the past 2 weeks. There are very few things as unsexy as your wife throwing up in a hospital bed or needing help just to reach the restroom. He set alarms for pain killers (that included 3 a.m.), had every sort of comfort food he could think of and made countless pieces of toast, filled up countless water bottles, gave me the pills I needed when I couldn't even tell time.
He was ready to fight anyone who told him he couldn't stay at the hospital. When I began shaking after surgery it was completely uncontrollable until he touched my face. I know now that he did so with a feeling of helplessness, but when he stopped I protested (beginning to shake again), and told him just to keep doing what he was doing. I fell blissfully asleep soon after.
He washed my hair, he helped me bathe, and never once made me feel guilty or humiliated. He helped me up and down the stairs for a week. He gave me his pillows from our bed (and I was so drugged I didn't even know), was willing to watch any movie, play any video game, that would make me feel better. He changed bandages daily, trying to move the tape in different places so it wouldn't hurt so badly when we took it off.
He fed the dogs, he shoveled snow, he admonished me for feeling bad about a large scar. He turned on the fire place to keep me warm, he bought me nacho materials (the Ultimate Comfort Food), he made sure I wore my sling, he came to my rescue when I fell on the stairs. He drove us around, he wanted to celebrate our Victory (when we received the official proclaimation from the surgeon that it was, indeed, a benign bone tumor), he bought me bottles of my favorite wine, he has let me play Zelda for hours on end (don't worry, I don't use the shield and therefore don't move my left arm).
All that to say, he has loved me. Loved me more than I ever thought possible. And my appreciation, my awe, of that...it knows no bounds.
Happy Tuesday, everyone. I've got a week left of vacation. I intend to enjoy it to its fullest.
You are so loved.
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