We made it.
He made it.
I could cry just thinking about how strong my husband is.
Yes, he's a big, burly dude who looks like a criminal some days.
He's strong in the physical sense.
Our current situation has shown me another side of him.
I KNOW he's in pain. I can hear it in his voice.
I can see his legs shaking as he tries to change positions.
Yet, every night as we "get ready for bed" he asks what movie I want to watch and says "date night!"
This man. 😍
He still laughs at the same Seinfeld episodes over and over again.
All while in pain.
I have to say though, the last two nights he's been able to make it without having to take his meds in the middle of the night.
He's not sleeping through the night by any means, but I guess the pain isn't SO bad that he feels he needs the "cocktail" (that's what we've been calling it when he takes all three meds at one time - when timed appropriately).
On The Last Day, we're supposed to get him clean.
YES I'M LAUGHING AS I'M TYPING THIS.
I can't help it.
Steve is mortified.
Because he clearly cannot do it himself.
And there's a specific way to do it.
He needs to shower today and then I need to wipe him down with these wipes.
We call the hospital between 2pm - 5pm to find out what time we're supposed to be there Wednesday morning.
The morning OF the surgery he's not supposed to shower or shave, but needs to be wiped down again. The poor guy. I seriously feel for him in that regard that he can't do this himself and hates that I have to do it.
I really try not to make a big deal about it and just do it and thankfully he DOES have a sense of humor and can laugh with me.
Just one more day of suffering.
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