Page 34 of First Comes Marriage
“You were right. If you’d lost your legs, which was a very real concern in the beginning, but I pushed back when the original surgeon wanted to immediately amputate. Even if that had ended up being the case, I would’ve learned how to help you keep them clean, then whether you chose to use prosthetics or just use a wheelchair the rest of your life, I’d have been right by your side,” I reply.
“Wait, did you say the original doctor just wanted to cut my legs off without even trying to fix them?” he asks, sounding appalled.
“Yep. But when he called me to ask for my permission, I not only told him no, I told himfuck nothat you didn’t just survive a water temperature that had you dangerously hypothermic, but you also made it through a helicopter crash. I told him he owed it to you as a former military man who served his country to do everything in his power to save your legs and if he felt he wasn’t up to the job, then I wanted another orthopedic surgeon to come in and consult. Guess what I got? Another doctor for you,” I state.
“I love it when you get feisty,” he says, kissing my forehead. “It makes me hard.”
I giggle because I can feel his erection nestled against my thigh, but the nurse the company hired to give him his IV antibiotics instead of me having to do it, will be coming in shortly to start that process. It takes about two hours for all of it to go through, and I’ll likely sleep through some of it, but I know that I want our first time together to be without potential interruptions.
“I can feel that,” I tease, “but we’re gonna have to wait. Marsha’s due to come in any time now to get the IV going again.”
“I’ll be glad when that’s finished, that’s for damn sure,” he grumbles.
I lean up and kiss his jaw, loving the beard he now has since he hasn’t been working. “We’ve waited this long, Dex, a little bit longer won’t hurt us.”
“You’re right,” he muses. “Still sucks that in a lot of ways I’m so damn limited.”
“But it won’t be like that forever, honey,” I reply. “Now, let me tell you what I was thinking with regard to the class we want to develop to present to the Board of Education.”
Chapter Twenty
Dex
Being home with my family, even my nagging grandmothers, has been the best medicine of all as far as I’m concerned. I’m finally rid of my central port since my latest bloodwork returned showing no signs of infection, which is another thing I don’t mind losing. The wound on my arm closed up enough that the wound vac was returned as well. Now, I just have the wound care nurse twice a week who comes by and cleans it then rewraps it, while the home health nurse checks it and does the same. I didn’t understand why I have both, to be honest, but apparently, the wound care nurse occasionally sends in swabs to ensure there’s not an infection trying to set up again. Plus, when I had the wound vac, she only took it off, she didn’t replace it. Whatever; I’m glad to be done with the extra tubes and the pain in the ass wound vac. The first time the alarm sounded, it woke Jolie and I from a dead sleep and scared the hell out of both of us.
But the best part of all? My physical therapist and I worked hard on me being able to go up and down the steps safely, whichmeans that as of tonight, Jolie and I are back inourbed. We’re still keeping the downstairs bedroom set up for those days when there’s so much going on I’m too fatigued to deal with stairs, but outside of needing a damn nap every single day, I feel pretty good, all things considered. It doesn’t hurt that I force Jolie to rest when I do because she’s still doing too damn much as far as I’m concerned. Hell, Mindy’s still here as well to try and take some of the load off my wife, and the kids have all stepped up but it’s as if shecan’tstop or something. Maybe it’s her way of avoiding how she feels about everything that’s happened. It’s definitely a bit overwhelming for sure, and she’s got some pretty complex and complicated emotions that stem from her childhood.
My legs are getting muscle tone back, probably because every time I turn around, one of the women in my life is shoving something high in protein in my hands and telling me to “eat”, but it comes from a good place and I can’t deny that it’s working, so I eat it, don’t complain, and carry on with whatever I’m doing. I still don’t like when the wound has to be cleaned and re-dressed, but the pain is no longer excruciating, more like an irritant than anything, which is also a good thing. Once it completely closes, I won’t have to keep it covered when I shower, and I cannot wait for that day to come because the adhesive sticks to my arm hairs that have begun growing back and those little bastards hurt when they’re pulled out that way!
I just wish my wife, my beautiful, stubborn, take-charge wife, would allow herself to break down and release her pent-up feelings. She still hasn’t dealt with any of it; not the initial phone call, seeing me in the hospital all broken, or the subsequent setbacks which she handled with grace and a lot of grit at times. The only reason I know she hasn’t is I’ve asked Abuela, Nonna, and even Mindy.
Walking into the kitchen using the cane that the physical therapist said I can now use, I ask Abuela, “Have you seen Jolie?”
She was already up when I woke up, so I showered by myself, which I no longer enjoy doing ever since she started helping me back in rehab. Obviously, as I’ve been healing, there’s been nothing completely sexual going on, but we’ve gotten to the place where I bathe her and she bathes me, which I consider major progress So what if I have the biggest case of blue balls known to mankind? As far as I’m concerned, it’s adding another layer of intimacy outside of sex that will only strengthen our relationship.
“She was going to check on the chickens, mijo,” Abuela says as she pounds away on a ball of dough. Heaven knows what she’s going to create, but I know it’ll be delicious.
“Thank you.” I start to turn, and she brings me a bottle of water.
“She’s been out there a long time, she should drink some of this.”
I slip it into the pocket of my shorts, grateful I didn’t grab the basketball ones with an elastic waist because otherwise, I’d be mooning my own grandmother. “Thanks, Abuela, I’ll be sure she drinks it.”
“The kids are with Nonna and Mindy at the farmer’s market,” she adds. “I wanted to get the dough rising for the bread we’re making later.”
Well, that answers my other question concerning why the house is so quiet. Abuela has the television that’s mounted in the kitchen on some daytime talk show, but the volume is low, more like a murmur than anything.
Carefully watching where I step, I make my way into the awesome chicken coop that Jolie built, marveling again at her natural talent. I see her crouched over something and when I notice her shoulders are shaking, I call out, “Jolie? Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” as I haul ass as quick as I possibly can until I’m by her side.
She turns her tear-streaked face toward me, and I quickly mask my emotion from my expression, because it’s obvious that today’s the day for her to lose it. “It didn’t make it,” she rasps out, holding her hands toward me.
As I sink onto the straw that’s been recently put down judging by how fresh it smells in here, I see that she’s holding an egg that has a baby chick inside who wasn’t able to break through the membrane after pipping the shell. It’s happened a few times, but when Jolie notices, she’s usually able to help the baby along, then put it in an incubator thing she bought after watching quite a few videos, and also talking to the employees at the local tractor supply company. She’s taught the kids how to candle an egg so they can tell if it’s been fertilized or not, and part of the coop is now relegated to the hens with babies.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I say, opening my arms. Without hesitation, she crawls into my lap, throwing her arms around me as she completely lets it all go. I don’t try to shush her; instead, I whisper nonsensical things and rock her in my arms while she cries out the months of fear, frustration, anger, and terror she felt that she’s kept bottled up deep inside. “I’m okay now, baby, I’m okay,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I put you through all of this, Jolie, I really am.”
She looks up at me and despite the swollen eyes, red face, and the tears still falling, she’s still the prettiest woman I’ve ever met. Because her beauty is not just on the outside, it comes from within, and that’s something you can’t get from a bottle. “It wasn’t your fault,” she stammers out, hiccupping between words because she’s been crying so hard.
“Talk to me, tell me how you felt, how you’re feeling now, what I can do to make things better?” I plead. “We’re partners, wife, and if you’re hurting, I’m hurting. Tell me how to fix this.”
