It's in the marriage vows... Part 2

If you have just joined us, you can read Part 1 here

When last we met, I was headed out the door, more than a little afraid of what I was going to see. I can deal with a lot of stuff, but seeing people I love injured just about knocks me out, every time.

TW waved his "injured" hand at me. I gasped involuntarily... His finger - more accurately, the end of his finger - was bent over at an odd angle. What the hell? Dear God in heaven, I thought, He has somehow broken that finger...

Remember, Gentle Reader that TW is a *mechanic*. For a Really Big Airline. Without his hands - both of his hands - he almost cannot function at work. Prior to 9/11, there were "light duty" jobs - things that an employee who was recovering from an injury or surgery could do while recuperating, without fear that they might further injure themselves while trying to do their "regular" work. After 9/11, "light duty" mostly disappeared - another victim of the (many) cutbacks that the Really Big Airline has undergone in order to keep their planes in the air. If TW can't work... things are going to get really grim, really fast for us financially. My gut instinctively tightened as my mind raced through all of the possible consequences of what I was looking at.

I swallowed hard, and jumped into the drivers seat. "OK." I commanded, "Tell me what the hell is going on. You broke your finger? Are you in pain?" TW said no, no pain - and it was really strange, because he didn't even know when it happened. He was just working in the cockpit of the plane like always, brought his left hand up to do something, and... he couldn't help but notice that this finger was bent over all weird. He showed his supervisor and crew chief, and they sent him over to the Medical Department at work. Medical took one look, and told him to go to his doctor. By now, we were pulling up in front of the hospital. TW grumbled a bit about walking all the way across the parking lot to the medical offices, and I had to tell him that he was going to the ER. He protested that it didn't even hurt - he thought he was going to see our regular doctor. As we walked in to the lobby of the ER, I explained to him why we were there, instead of seeing our family doctor.

For "ground zero" of our local H1N1 epidemic, it was eerily quiet in the ER. We were the only people there except for an elderly lady who had just been transported in from a local nursing home. I asked the nurse why it was so empty, and she told us that we had come in at one of the two times that were guaranteed to be quiet. Friday late afternoon/evening, no one *wants* to be there; typically the only people they see are car wrecks. The other time, ironically enough, is *during* any major football game. She told us that once the game is over, they are flooded with every kind of problem imaginable, but during the game... nothing.

After the "intake" was done, TW was led to a cubicle that was clearly used for orthopedic cases. There was a rack with crutches, stacks of splints, and a whole shelving unit full of gauze rolls, casting materials and surgical tape. We didn't have long to wait - the young doctor who bounced in to the room didn't even introduce himself - he took one look at TW's hand, said "Yep, it's mallet finger", introduced himself as an afterthought, and then told us that we would have to go see a specialist on Monday. He put a temporary splint on TW's hand, and cautioned him to take it easy - no lifting, holding, or twisting with that hand.

We went home, a bit frustrated that we were going to have to wait all weekend to see the specialist. Needless to say, TW immediately got on the Internet to learn about Mallet Finger.

He promptly told me there was no point in worrying about it, because he was just going to have the end of that finger amputated. He showed me a web page that went into quite a bit of detail regarding the various methods of treating Mallet Finger, and showed me that the success rates were pretty dismal. I was kind of shocked - I couldn't believe that people might actually choose to amputate their finger, rather than at least *try* to fix it, but there it was...

...and there was the date. The research data that TW had found was more than 30 years old!!! Once we got past that, it became obvious that there would be some things to try before just jumping to amputation...

------------------------------------------

Monday morning arrived none too soon for me. I love TW - I truly do - but there are times when he can drive me insane. Primarily, when he is sick or injured. Let's just clear this up now:

TW IS NOT A GOOD PATIENT.

Just so we are all on the same page.

The specialist is very nice. He is calm, and explains everything that he is going to do/can do/might do/won't do. TW asks questions, Specialist answers them. In very short order, the decision to operate ASAP is made; Specialist does not want to wait any longer than we have to. Surgery is scheduled for four days hence - Friday. Thursday will be taken up with pre-op fun and games like x-rays, blood work, etc.

Specialist's Nurse hands me a shopping list of supplies I am going to need for TW's "home care" after the surgery. I look at Specialist, Nurse, and TW. "What if I can't do this?" I asked...

Continue on to Part 3!

It's in the marriage vows...

No, not the "richer or poorer" part. We've already been both rich and poor. And while rich might be easier, I'm not afraid of poor.

Here, Gentle Reader, I am talking about "in sickness and in health".

Specifically, as it relates to TW. And his marked propensity for winding up in operating rooms, with surgeons saying things like "Wow, never seen *that* before"...

This time, thankfully, it wasn't life-threatening. But that hasn't made it any less stressful; and the fact that TW isn't the best patient in the world isn't helping.

This time, TW had to have surgery to replace a tendon in his hand. This might not seem like a big deal on the surface - after all, modern-day microsurgical techniques mean that healing times are much faster than they used to be, and they allow the surgeon to complete repairs that once-upon-a-time were nigh on impossible.

Several years ago, TW's left hand got caught in a piece of equipment. The doctor at the ER that day took an x-ray, and said "Nothing broken!", sent him home with an ice pack, some extra-strength Tylenol, and a note for work that said he could resume regular duties as soon as the swelling was gone.

No one in our household gave that incident another thought. Until about two and-a-half weeks ago.

My cell phone rang a bit more than an hour after TW started his shift at work. I glanced at the caller ID, and I knew instantly that something was wrong, because the call was coming from his supervisor's phone. I answered, and heard TW say "Honey, I've got to go to Medical, I'll call again..." I never got a word in before the line went dead.

I had about 5 minutes of near insanity. What had happened? Was he bleeding? Would I be allowed to talk to him again, or did I need to start driving towards the hospital I knew they would take him to in The Greater Metro? I did a quick mental inventory; I had no cash, the van was low on gas, and I had no one who could come and stay with Mom and Twinks if I needed to be at the hospital for very long. I had to change clothes; I was wearing raggedy old paint-stained sweats, and my hair had been pulled back into a rather untidy mess while I had been cleaning the house. I was just trying to figure out if I should call his supervisor's desk to see what was going on when my cell lit up again. This time, TW was calling from his own phone. He was out of breath - I had to ask him to slow down and repeat his words again. "I'm fine!" he shouted into the phone, "But they are sending me to the Doctor, so I'm coming straight home." In what was becoming a rather unsettling trend, the line clicked over to silence again.

I started to dial his cell, when he called back. "Tell the doc," he shouted "Tell him that my hand is all messed up." I tried to ask what happened, but he cut me off. "Medical said I have to be seen tonight." He was still breathing hard, huffing and puffing like he was running a marathon. "Call our doc, and tell him I'm coming in. I'm stopping by to get you." he said. I asked what happened. "That's just it!" he exclaimed, "I don't *know* what happened! I was just *working* and my hand is *messed up*! I have to go - I can't hold this phone and drive, so I gotta go. I will see you in a few minutes." TW hung up (again) and I was left to call the doctor's office.

It was 4:00 pm on a Friday afternoon.

I wasn't hopeful that we could get him in to see our primary care physician; H1N1 has kept all the local medical facilities busy. Sure enough, the nurse said: Don't come here. You will get the swine flu, and then you will be miserable *and* have a "messed up" hand. Go to the ER at the hospital next door. They have an orthopod on staff, and can call in a "hand guy" if TW's hand is really mangled.

At 4:10, TW was in the driveway. I headed out the door, more than a little afraid of what I was going to see. I can deal with a lot of stuff, but seeing people I love injured just about knocks me out, every time.

TW waved his "injured" hand at me. I gasped involuntarily...

continue reading Part 2 of "It's in the marriage vows..." here