Monday, April 20, 2009

The morning after

No, I'm not talking about the pill.
And I'm not talking about the actual morning after.
I'm talking about the morning you wake up and realize your husband isn't writhing in pain from yet another surgery, that he's actually smiling as he putters to the loo to take poo.
(Sorry Channeling my inner Dr. Seuss.)
I'm in my own morning after. I can almost breathe. I can almost feel the world resuming its natural orbit.
I can almost feel our lives returning to normal.
The Man is smiling and playing with the heathens and functioning.
He still can't bend the finger, which is worrisome, because the tendon was repaired. So we wait for whatever degree of functionality we're destined to have.
The surgeon told me he can't do anymore, so we're done with surgeries and sorrow and pain.
Unless he throws us a curve ball, which would really piss me off.
The Man is almost human again instead of a poor imitation of one, wandering around our house, going through the motions, living with pain.
For the first time in almost a year, I'm allowing myself a tiny ray of hope.
And praying the world doesn't crush it.

1 comment:

Tara said...

I am tearing up just reading this. Is it possible for it to truly be over? I so hope. Hugs to you and The Man. Ah, what the hell - through one in for the Heathens too. :)