Big Mike's Big Day.

Today was a very big day for Mike.  Now, I know this sounds like I make him out to be six years old, but there was a point at the beginning of all of this where he was completely sedated, tube up the nose, lying with NOTHING on except for a strategically placed towel and his leg wound up in bandages, tubes EVERYWHERE, and, well, you know the story.  I have been UBER protective of my husband.  For newlyweds, you will only realize how much you truly love someone when you are brought to a point where you want to guard them with your life and are willing to go to a throw down to make your point.  I've been there a few times in the last 4 months.  One nurse said, "I don't see a patient, I see a UNIT."  That’s what we have been.  The three of us.  A unit. 

We have been with him at every step, every appointment, every bandage change, CT, infusion, everything.  Even yesterday, although we sat out in the lobby because she's sick, we were still in close range in case anything happened.  I have become my own worst nightmare:  I have become a helicopter wife.  Hovering over my husband like he's a six year old that can't do for himself.  But when you see your spouse with wires and tubes and things beeping and lights and nurses and a doctor that says, "I have an hour to save your life," your brain goes places you never ever wanted to go.  I have to be careful.  It took a year of therapy back in the 90's for me to get past my co-dependent mindset.  I didn't have boyfriends, I had "projects".  The hardest part about this ordeal with nec/fac was walking up to that fence that separated me from the field of "taking completely over someone's life" and not jumping the fence.  I have to be supportive without being suppressive.  I have to be encouraging without being flip.  I have to have the dignity to say, "Ok, I'm letting the line out because you're a big boy and can handle this now."  And that was today.  Happily.

We drove Mike to the front doors of Building C and dropped him off.  I felt like the day I left Katherine, at the age of six, at the doors of kindergarten. 

“Want me to walk you inside?” I asked hopefully. 

“Are you stoned?” he responded, not even turning his head and making his way through the sliding doors.  It’s not that he doesn’t love me.  Today represented independence!  One more day closer to possibly resuming life as close to being normal as he can have.  At the moment, anyway.  He’s been without a wheelchair rolling behind him for over a week now.  Today he was dropped off and the nurses took care of bandages and IV and he got one more little taste of independence. 

Ali and I went to get a Jamba Juice and then went home to wait for the call.  He called just as the nurse was hooking up the IV and we arrived PERFECTLY on time as he walked out the sliding doors to get in the truck.  Off to Lowe’s to get spotlight fixtures to deter the trolls that have been leaving their calling cards on the Dodge under the carport.  He marched right in the door at Lowe’s, up and down the aisles, limping toward the end, but by gum, he was going to push it.  And he pushed it to the point the foot and leg are pounding, but it’s good pain.  It’s pain of, “I walked up to another monster mountain and I walked straight up that bastard and stood on top.  Then I limped back down, but I made it to the top.”  He’s gone out into the garage three days in a row now, one day sitting and staring at The Other Woman.  I knew we kept her for a good reason.  The second night to rummage through tin cans of various and assorted crap he collects that he thinks is important, and to him it is.   Tonight he changed out the light fixture.  Brought out a few tools, did the man thing of assembling, fastening, tightening, adjusting, playing with wires and voila!  Job well done. 

As long as Ali is sick we will keep this routine up.  The nurses REALLY appreciated us not bringing in a sick child.  Mike appreciated the independence.  I appreciated the break in routine.  Honestly?  I appreciated the time away, even if just for a little bit.  He’s not a big boy.  No, he’s a grown man and what’s that he likes to say?  If I’d wanted another mother I wouldn’t have killed my own.  He’s KIDDING.  It’s his way of saying, “I need a wife, not a mom.”  And today I took my first steps back down the path of being his WIFE once again.  Every day brings a new kind of healing.