So, I need to take my mind off the fact that I just threw my daughter to the wolves and she'll spend the next twelve years of her life being influenced by individuals over whom I have no control. I'm kidding.
I'm actually doing very well and I am extremely excited for her. I think she'll thrive in her environment. And I'm praying and trusting that God will guide her decisions and footsteps and that she'll be a blessing to someone today and every day.
Anyway, so much for taking my mind off the aforementioned wolf situation.
My husband is doing a series called "My Achilles" (it'll be posted to our website soon). On Sunday, he told a story about his achilles tendon tear back in 2007. I'd like to share my side of the story with you by running a little something I wrote during that timeframe. You'll find it below. Enjoy!
February 15, 2007
I watched the edited-for-TV version of Troy on the Hallmark channel last month. Its the Hollywood adaptation of Homer's The Iliad?
Or as I like to call it: "Ancient Greek Eye Candy." Orlando Bloom as the weak and flawed Paris. Eric Bana as the honorable and courageous Hector. Brad Pitt as the brooding and unstoppable Achilles.
I generally enjoy Brad Pitt not only for his extreme "watchability" on the big screen, but also because I think he's a decent actor. Twelve Monkeys. Se7en. Ocean's Eleven/Twelve. Seven Years in Tibet. (Whoa...I never noticed that--his movies all have numbers in the titles.) Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Legends of the Fall, Meet Joe Black, Interview With the Vampire, Snatch, Fight Club --there, no numbers.
I really liked him as Achilles. He was complex. And beautiful.
There is currently an Achilles-related issue in my life that is definitely complex, but, most importantly, not beautiful.
Aaron partially tore his right Achilles tendon playing basketball on Monday. He's in a cast and on crutches for at least a week, at which time he has another doctor's appointment to see if its healing on his own. Then he'll need to stay in the cast. Conversely, if it is not healing it will probably need to be fixed by surgery.
As most of you know, I'm not a very nurturing person by nature. All of my kind, loving, nurturing capabilities are rapidly consumed by the demands of a two year old each day, so there's not really a whole lot left over for grown men. I'm doing my best, though. I really am.
Aaron knew he was in for quite an ordeal when I drove him downtown to Henry Ford Hospital for an appointment with the orthopaedic doctor at the crack of dawn Tuesday morning (the morning after he injured it while playing basketball).
The key words here are "crack of dawn." We all know what a morning person I am. And I really tried to be happy and upbeat for his sake because I knew he was really worried that he was going to need surgery (he has an extremely busy schedule--surgery could knock him out of the game for a period of time that is not conducive to his normal burn-the-candle-at-both-ends lifestyle).
The happy, upbeatness lasted for about a half hour when the reality of the fact that I was driving through downtown Detroit at 7:00 a.m. hit me. Aaron kindly thanked me for holding out as long as I could before the "crabby" took over. He's so understanding.
I was going to drop him off at the front entrance, but when he realized how easily I get lost...in parking lots....he said he'd rather crutch his way from the parking lot with me out of fear that I'd never make it to our intended destination. Luckily, I found a spot rather close--seeing how no one in the entire area code was even awake, let alone at the hospital. Did I mention that it was the CRACK OF DAWN!
I snagged one of the handy-dandy wheelchairs at the front entrance and proceeded to wheel him through the large, revolving door where I practically amputated his bad foot.
In my defense, 1) I get a little paranoid and clausterphobic when utilizing revolving doors and 2) I've never pushed anyone in a wheelchair before.
We finally made it up to the Orthopaedic wing, mildly unscathed. It was on the 12th floor. Whose idea was that? Most of the people needing orthopaedic care are on crutches, canes or in wheelchairs. Brilliant move, Henry Ford. (On the way up, an EMT, who happened to watch the spectacle I created as I manuevered Aaron into the elevator, offered some advice. He said that its generally easiest to back into an elevator with a wheelchair. Good advice).
Once settled into the waiting room, (which didn't occur until after some difficulty checking him in at the front desk due to the usual confusion over the spelling of our name; H-L, folks...I know its weird, but its really not that hard), Aaron asked me for some money to get a bottled water from the vending machine at the end of the hall.
I really wanted to get a coffee and I only had a few bucks in my purse--enough to pay for parking and a little bit extra. So, I sat silently for about 30 seconds just staring at him, searching for a "valid," non-selfish reason to not give him the money.
"Are you going to answer me?" he asked.
"I'm thinking," I replied.
"About what?? Its a simple question--do you have money for me to get a water?" He was truly confused.
"I'm trying to come up with a lie to tell you so I don't have to tell you the selfish reason I want to keep my money," I confessed...it was way too early for my brain to work deceptively.
"Are you kidding?" he asked in disbelief.
"No...I really want a coffee but I feel selfish because you're in pain and all...."
So, I selflessly relinquished my remaining $2.
At that point, an elderly couple entered the waiting room, which, I might add, was lined with empty chairs. The wife made her way to the reception desk while her husband hobbled his way to an empty chair--directly next to me.
Why?! Its a lot like the unspoken "man law" of the mens restroom. If possible, you never sit directly next to a total stranger. You always leave an empty chair in between. Plus, there was no good reason for him to choose this chair--it wasn't like it was the closest too him or the easiest to get to.
Apparently, my disgust over the invasion of my personal space was written all over my face because I heard Aaron attempt to stifle a laugh, just as he had taken a drink from his newly acquired bottle of water, just barely avoiding a water-spraying catastrophe.
"What?!" I demanded.
"You," he said.
"I didn't say anything," I retorted angrily.
"You didn't have to."