Scott had a minor surgery on Friday. The original plan was for me to go to work (because of Mardi Gras, it was only a three day work week) and meet him in recovery to bring him home. That sounds easy enough, right?
Wrong! I woke up in a frenzy, got dressed for work, and decided that concentrating on my therapy sessions at work was just impossible. I packed up four magazines and we went to the hospital.
I must admit that I spent the whole day before the surgery thinking of lasts. What if this is our last...? Crazy, I know. I wasn't worried about the surgery, but just the MAC (conscious sedation). I know people go under every day, and I've been under general anesthesia twice, but I couldn't stop the what if's.
Everything was fine. The surgery was a success, and we came home for about noon. My co-workers came over to the house for a meeting. Long after they left, Scott was feeling sick (from the pain medication) so I left the house to get him some Sprite. Finally I was alone, for the first time of the whole day, and all of the relief hit me at once. I fought back tears so I could pass for somewhat normal at Wal-Mart.
I couldn't be more thankful for my husband. I couldn't be happier with our relationship, our companionship. Thinking about losing him, even for a second, is debilitating. My need to function in a role to take care of him was the only thing that got me through Friday... He needed me to drive him from the hospital, pick-up lunch and medication, clean his incisions. The second that was taken away -- when I could take off the care-taking hat, the relief hit me. He is mine again, for years to come.
I love you Scotty Stead. I cannot imagine life without you.