I got this message from Josh yesterday morning. Since then, he’s been doped up, lying with his feet up and hobbling around base. Since he can’t drive or bike, I get to play the chauffeur.
How fitting that it was 9 years ago this week that we were in a similar situation: living in the desert, a husband who could barely walk, and celebrating our anniversary. I joked on the long drive down the hill, “Did you ever imagine on this day 7 years ago, that I’d be driving you to back surgery with three little boys in the back seat? (Our newest, Caleb, was only a month old at the time.) For better or worse, huh?” Back then I had a lot less wrinkles, but a lot more crazy. We were quite a pair — he was broken physically, and I was broken mentally.
This time we’re 4 days from our anniversary and I’m just driving Josh to work and physical therapy appointments, which is WAY better than surgery. And there’s something that’s a little more acceptable about having back problems when you’re almost 40 instead of still in your 20s which makes him less frustrated about it (or maybe that’s just the Valium working).
So we won’t be putting on our dancing shoes this August 23rd — instead we’ll be celebrating with a cocktail of Motrin and accessorizing with ice packs. PAR-TAY!!