Been a heck of a week, my beloved did something horrible to his back and has been completely immobile for the better part of the past five days. He's feeling much better now, thanks to his new friend, Mr. Vicodin. I, however, am nearly to the point of murder. I don't know if this is one of those man/woman things, but when I'm sick or somehow laid up, I simply want to be left alone. All I really ask is that someone check from time to time and see that I'm still breathing and maybe the occasional piece of toast...otherwise, DO NOT ENTER my immediate area. My beloved, on the other hand, thinks the best place for him is on the couch in the living room...ground zero for all the noise and activity in the house. He parks himself there, perhaps he thinks we'll forget about him if we can't see his grumpy face at all times, and then gets pissed when the activity in the room wakes him up. Let's think for one quick second...the dark and quiet bedroom or the bustling, noisy living room, I know what I'D choose. You have to know a couple of things about my beloved, he hates getting sick, hates going to the doctor and has a touch of the hypochondriac in his soul. Every headache might be a brain tumor, every cough is a sign of pneumonia and a cut finger is probably going to gangrenous in a matter of hours.
This time was quite different, there was an ambulance and a hospital stay involved. I know the back is a tricky area but I think I must have been expecting something different from his two day stay in the hospital. They gave him Demerol, Valium and something else that I can't recall right now and he was not only still conscious, but still in terrible pain. First he headed off to X-Ray (they didn't see anything unusual) and eventually up to a room to meet the first of his new friends, Miss Morphine drip. He liked her, thought she was just swell. A day and a half later, no further tests or anything, the pain had subsided and they said he could come home with two more new friends, Mr. Vicodin and Mr. Valium. These are interesting new acquaintances for a guy that usually falls asleep after two Advil.
Bless him for trying to maintain the appearance of alertness and even the attempts at normal conversation were admirable, but futile. I think time and space became rather elastic for a while there, he had several failed attempts at remembering what day it was, but he DID know the year. A weird kind of cheer set in for the remainder of the first day home and I got the impression that the house could have collapsed around him and he would have been vaguely happy about it without ever knowing why. The kids were a little confused by their father's rather goofy happiness and the disjointed conversation that started and stopped with random abruptness and topic shifts that you'd need a map to follow. Poor guy, he really was trying so very hard to seem normal and had no earthly idea just how spectacularly he was failing.
Vicodin land seems like a happy place, check out Bill Engvall's story about Vicodin Land sometime, hilarious! We're on Friday now and I think the two Mr. Vs will be moving on soon, here's hoping anyway. I don't know that I could take much more of my beloved being home all day. He's taken to following me around the house asking me what I do all day (even though I do work part time), reading both newspapers and the computer screen over my shoulder and asking me every time I hang up the who it was I was talking to. This needs to stop now, it's time.