This whole past year of marriage I have jumped to anger on most occasions. Maybe the anger saves me from the fear of losing the only man who ever loved me truly… the man who always put me first… despite my annoying antics and my pain in the ass ways… may leave me at any moment. And even though I want to put on my strong cap and say fuck it he can go… blah blah blah he will never find a wife like me… I can’t help the feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach that maybe one day I may just push the wrong button a little too hard. That’s marriage I suppose. =/
Right now I’m sitting in a hospital waiting room. Or, to be exact, I’m sitting in the hallway outside of the waiting room, at a workstation specifically designed for people like me. People who are waiting in a hospital.
I am waiting for Joe. At this moment, he is gowned and unconscious, undergoing a surgery called a discectomy, where they cut a teeny tiny hole in his lower back and shave away the bulging disc that’s been infringing on his sciatic nerve since Father’s Day.
This bulging disc has likely been in progress for years—decades, even. Years of poor posture and carrying toddlers and stacking wood has contributed to the slow pop of an unhappy disc. And finally, a heavy deadlift at Crossfit was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
About an hour ago I watched while Joe undressed and put on his pale blue hospital gown. I watched him kick off…
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