It’s been a tough week. The hand surgery went well, but I ate pain medicine like M&Ms for three days. Thank God I live with an earth angel.
Don’t laugh. Ronnie should be canonized as quickly as Mother Theresa by the Vatican after he dies because he is a saint who has willingly and cheerfully been at my beck and call. It’s a miracle that he’s stayed with me because I’ve been a one-handed whining woman for a week now, and we still have another four days until the hand is unwrapped and the stitches are removed.
He’s doled out meds in the right dosage at the appropriate times.
Ron: “The directions say take one to two pills.”
Ron: “Every four to six hours.”
Eventually he scaled me back to one every six hours, but I was adamant about staying ahead of the pain for several days. And there has been plenty of pain. The doctor warned me there would be, and he was being truthful. But the swelling is gradually going down because I’ve been faithful about keeping the hand elevated above my heart.
Ronnie has driven me to Houston twice already for meetings. (Yes, my picture is the illustration next to “Responsible One” in the dictionary.) He’s carried my iPad, my papers, and my purse. He’s supplied me with bottled water that he uncaps for me, and he’s prepared meals that he cuts up for me.
I’d say more, but I’m having to type with one hand, and that means I’m moving around the keyboard with one finger, hunting and pecking. The good news is that recovery is on the horizon. In the meanwhile, I am one blessed woman to be living with an angel.