Diaries I Read:
B and I went to the doctor yesterday morning. The appointment went well � I guess nothing too surprising.
Basically, the main concern over the next three months is that the vertebrae around the disk he injured fuse correctly. They inserted a plate and screws to hold them together, but the bones are supposed to fuse so that the bone they inserted to replace the disk is protected. That means nothing high-impact for the next three months.
Of course, B�s two favorite physical activities, running and weight lifting, are out. But there are a lot of things he can do. Stationary bike, elliptical machine, stair stepper, light weight training, swimming (with a snorkel � giggle � so he doesn�t have to turn his neck to breathe).
The doctor wasn�t surprised about B�s discomfort and that his hands and arms still tingle. Again, he said it may be some time before that goes away. B�s right hand is still weaker than his left, and he noted that he has some atrophy in his hands. He said it was OK for B to still be needing, and taking, the Vicoden.
So other than answering our questions about activities B can and can�t do, the doctor just set B up for occupational therapy (concentrating on his hands at this point) and wants to see him in four weeks, with X-rays so he can see how the fusion is coming along.
I tried to get the doctor to give us some idea of how quickly and completely he thinks B is going to recover, but he wouldn�t give me an inch. I understand, even though it�s frustrating. The truth is, he just doesn�t know, and he doesn�t want to make false predictions or promises.
He did, however, remind us that B has suffered a very serious injury. I guess it�s easy to forget, since he seems to be recovering so well. But I think that, with our questions about when he�d be able to play softball or begin training for another marathon, the doctor sensed that we might have lost sight of the severity of a spinal cord injury.
He did say he wouldn�t be surprised if, a year from now, B was still aware that �something wasn�t quite right.�
While statements like this caused me to walk away from the appointment feeling less than optimistic, B seemed fine. When I asked him how he felt about everything, he just said, �Three months is a really long time.� But he was glad to be starting physical therapy, glad to be proactive and able to do something to hasten his recovery.
XXX
He went to therapy at 7:15 this morning. At about 8:30, he called me and started crying on the phone. He said that they had tested his grip strength, and his left hand was about 72%, while his right was about 36%. He said they measured his wrists and they had shrunk. He was very upset, and then he said he felt like a �pu$$y� for being so emotional about it. It broke my heart.
I told him it was OK to be upset, that what happened to him sucks and that he has every right to be mad and sad and frustrated and scared. I told him it wasn�t fair that he was in perfect shape and then this happens and all of a sudden he�s not. But that he is so young and so strong and that he is going to get better. That those measurements were only to establish a base line so they could see how much he improves over the next few weeks. And that he is going to improve. That he is going to be able to do all the things he wants to do.
He knows all this. I know he knows. But maybe it helps for me to say it out loud to him?
I hate this. I hate that this has happened to him and that he was crying on the phone to me today. I hate that my big, strong, perfect husband feels like he�s broken. I hate that there�s nothing I can do about it.
I feel so helpless. My mom tells me that what I�m doing � just being here, listening, supporting him � is the most important thing, that it does help. I just wish I could do more.
So I�m thinking that maybe what I can do is be more supportive of what he�s able to do. Instead of going for a run with my neighbor, B and I should go to the gym together, run on the elliptical together, do some light weights and stuff together. Except I hate the elliptical. I hate running inside. But I�ll do it for B.
XXX
On a lighter note (and this might seem utterly unfair, as I�m about to poke a little bit of fun at B, but just know that it�s not with a bit of malice), I have to share something humorous.
B is a very smart guy, but he�s not necessarily book smart. He�s not a nerd like me. He hates school. He doesn�t read anything but the newspaper. He claims that he�s never, ever read an entire novel.
This last bit is especially hard for me, the English major, English teacher, writer, book lover, editor, wordsmith, to swallow. But that�s just him. Ask him about mortgages or 401(K)s, he�ll bombard you with facts, statistics, insights, plans. Ask him about history, he knows quite a bit. Ask him about agriculture, he�s an expert. But don�t ask him to spell anything, define anything, or even necessarily pronounce anything correctly.
B is very *creative* with his words. Maybe it�s a Texas thing because, like our President, B is known to invent words that don�t really exist, such as �gription� and �droggy.� The former was used to describe the tread on his shoes while we were on a hike; the latter described how he felt after his surgery. Actually, I think both should be real words � they combine �grip� with �traction� and �groggy� with �drugged-up� and �drowsy� quite nicely.
There are other words he has a particularly hard time with. Take, for instance, �gorgonzola,� as in the cheese. Despite my efforts to help him sound out the word, he insists on saying �garganzaga.� When we�re at the house, it�s no biggie; I know what he�s talking about. But at the grocery store or in a restaurant, he asks for the �garganzaga� in his Texas drawl, and they look at him a little cock-eyed.
Another word he cannot say right: �Breakfast.� Believe it or not, he says �breakthast.� I know, I know, his way is much harder on the tongue. And both he and his mom, I�m embarrassed to say, describe a person who cannot hear as �death.� I�m sure the deaf community appreciates that vote of confidence.
The newest word for him to butcher is �atrophy.� I had to repeat the word for him several times after the doctor�s visit as he relayed it to others on the phone, and I even said just think of �a trophy.� But he can�t remember it, and now he�s telling everyone his hands have �athropy.�
And here�s the best one. He can�t remember the name of the elliptical machine that the doctor said he can run on. I overheard him on the phone last night telling someone he was going to start using the �epileptic� machine at the gym.
I love him so much.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004