So . . . life is funny.
Anyone that has been married for as long as I have (soon to be 13) might be able to relate to this. There comes a time when you re-evaluate things . . . try to see where your priorities are versus your partner's. You try to see if you two are even looking at the same book anymore, nevermind whether or not you are on the same page. You try to figure out if you are both rowing in the same direction, or if your boat is just spinning in the water, or maybe even sinking.
That has been happening here.
As you might imagine, this led to many long talks, some civil, some not-so-civil. Everything was on the table: divorce, trial separation, sharing living space as parenting partners only, counseling and staying together. About as fun as a broken back.
Funny enough, just about the time we were reaching some pretty final agreements, my sugar went through the roof (no idea why) and my back went out. And when I say it "went out", I mean WAY out.
Picture this: After my shower last Wednesday morning, I was stepping into my PANTIES, for God's sake, and a lightning bolt seared through my spine, taking me immediately to the ground, breathless with pain. For the next 2 hours, I crawled, naked, through my house, dragging my useless lower half with me in a vain search for a telephone I could reach.
By the time Hub came hustling in the door, I had been on the floor for 3 hours, 3 dogs nervously sitting around me. He calmly assessed the situation, dressed me, and called 911. He then sat with me through the following days of bedrest, hospitalization, pain, transport home, and aftercare. He even bit his tongue as I slept, drugged, through his ENTIRE birthday.
As I sit typing this, I am resting here at home, waiting for my very very dicey, bulgy lower back disc to calm down enough to attempt therapy.
This morning, it sort of seems like the worst of the back issue is behind me (ha ha). After being off work for so many days, Hub has returned to work. Today is the first day since last Wednesday I have been able to get out of bed and bathe and dress myself completely. I wisely decided to sit on a bench before attempting the high wire act known as "putting on my panties". Yea, me!
So, as I was sudsing up this morning, I ruefully decided that life had shown me really quickly that maybe I need my partner way more than I thought I did. Maybe there was more left here than we thought there was. Maybe one more chance is warranted. Maybe this had happened for a reason, to give us both a chance to slow down and reconsider things.
As often happens, music started running through my head as I lathered up my hair.
Forgive me, David Soul.
Don't give up on us, baby
Lord knows we've come this far
Can't we stay the way we are?
The angel and the dreamer
Who sometimes plays a fool
Don't give up on us, I know
We can still come through . . .
(followed, of course, by my NEW verse)
Wash my ass with that loofah
Because I can't reach there
I can't put on my own underwear
I'm pretty much a slug now
and I depend on you . . .
But don't give up on us, I think
I can still blow you . . . .
Editorial note: After reading this, Hub commented that he thought I was glad he was still here just because I was hurt, and as soon as I was better, I would be unhappy again.
Hmm. Fair enough.
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