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One for Me

Lyle went to see a specialist yesterday. I went along just to make sure my questions got answered.

I have to say I felt vindicated just a little even before we saw the doc. Lyle somehow convinced himself in his Percocet delirium that he maintains a level of charm and etiquette in this hobbled-up state that Miss Manners would applaud. I realized that all he has to compare it to is ME, but I’m the first to admit that I was a horrible patient when I convalesced from knee, ankle, shoulder and neck injuries.

Well, let me back up, I was a good patient in that I followed doctor’s orders, something Lyle could learn from, but I often lost track of the help my family provided. It was a pretty self-centered existence.

In his mind, he must be rubbing elbows with Florence Nightingale, and he was quick to remind me of my shortcomings in the nursing department. No freaking surprise dude. I’m a PR girl, I’m used to spinning all that crap into pretty little packages or at least ones that don’t seem nearly as ugly as they could be. It works well with my terminal half-full outlook.

However, I’m absolutely wretched in terms of letting things roll off my shoulders – at home anyway. If there is a last word to be had, I’m grabbing it, tackling you to the ground to get it if need be. It’s mine.

There is no room for this right now, and I truly try to keep it in check. The insides of my cheeks and the side of my tongue are swollen from me gnawing at the words I want to keep flying from my mouth.

As we sat in the doctor’s office, I chomped away on my lip, but Lyle didn’t notice. I know I was being good – I can manage it in public. It’s really only in private that I let venom spew. I think that’s what keeps me from being a sociopath – I do KNOW right from wrong, I just don’t always practice it.

Anyway, he was grumbling and saying some kinda hurtful thing to me. When he got up to get an x-ray, he tossed something at me and grumbled some bunch of shit and off he gimped. I wondered if I was being too sensitive, but then I looked at the people across the waiting room and noticed their expression. It was all I needed.

Getting into see the doctor was helpful too. Basically, the doc thinks that there was one complete tear between the hamstring and the tendon, but there are two more connections that keep things in check. The prognosis involves PT and rest. Did you hear that, REST.

“So, any activity that would require a Percocet at the end, probably not a good idea,” I asked.

The doctor looked at me as if I completely lost my mind and said, “correct.”

“How about spreading sealer on the driveway,” I said.

“I see where this is going,” he says. He turned to my husband and said, “Take it easy. Sit there and heal.”

When I got back to the office my colleague and I decided that any activity that would require a Percocet for Lyle should also include one for me to keep me from strangling him. I think that sounds like a grand plan.

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One Response

  1. I remember you pushing it as well when you were recovering each time, and need some extra pampering. You quickly forget, how boring it becomes letting the days of summer and household chores slip out of your reach. The doctor did say, what ever you do is not going to rip any worse, unless I am trying to get up on ski’s and do it again. Live a little and help me to deal with the pain, if needed.

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