by jphilo | May 31, 2013 | Family
One year ago today, the man of steel was bedridden with back pain. About a week later, the doctor diagnosed a ruptured disk and recommended back surgery.
The next few weeks put a strain on or marriage and revealed some flaws in his character and mine. After the surgery was over, the hospital stay put more strain on our marriage.
By July the man of steel started physical therapy, he started regaining man cards one after another. Eventually, he was given the okay to start a walking and running regime. Little by little, through the summer and fall, the physical therapist increased his running time.
He followed her instructions. To. The. Letter.
He spent late winter afternoons after work running on a treadmill in the physical therapy exercise room. Come spring, he started running outside.
Run 2 miles. Walk 1 minute. Repeat 3 times.
Every other day.
Run 3 miles. Walk 1 minute. Repeat 2 times.
Every other day.
Run 4 miles. Walk 1 minute. Repeat 2 times.
Every other day.
Tomorrow, he’s running in the Des Moines Dam to Dam half-marathon.
He’ll run 4 miles. Walk 1 minute. Repeat 3 times.
It’ll be a great day.
His back is stronger than ever.
Our marriage is stronger than ever.
And we’re thankful, the man of steel and me.
Photo Source
by jphilo | Jul 9, 2012 | Family
Even though today’s our thirty-fifth anniversary, the man of steel’s feeling a little grim. He has been ever since he ruptured a disk and started losing man cards right and left.
- He lost the first card when he landed flat on his back in excruciating pain.
- He surrendered a second man card when he admitted he needed Tylenol for the pain.
- Loss #3 came when the woman of aluminum finally convinced him to rent a wheelchair.
- He lost the fourth man card by agreeing to anesthesia during back surgery.
- A flurry of cards fell when his post-op restrictions included a five pound weight limit, no driving, no twisting, and no excess bending.
- The final card hit the dirt when he had to accept the help of friends and neighbors who mowed our lawn, trimmed bushes, brought meals, and changed the dressing on his incision while I was gone for a few days.
But within a week of surgery he started to replenish his deck.
- He added a card immediately by refusing to fill any pain killer prescriptions and not taking one pill during his recovery.
- He gained another card by walking a mile on his second day post op and working up to four miles a day within a week of surgery.
- Another man card entered his deck when he spent five hours running sound at church less than two weeks after surgery.
- And at his two week post op appointment, he earned back three man cards when the driving restriction ended, the weight restriction went up to twenty pounds, and he started bending and twisting under the supervision of a physical therapist.
However, all those gains were nearly wiped out earlier today. Over the weekend, he hauled out the mower, and it wouldn’t start. He drained out the old gas and put in new. It still wouldn’t start. He cleaned the spark plug. Still no go. This morning, he bought a new spark plug. To no avail. Finally, he called the mower repair shop and asked them to pick it up.
With that, he lost almost every man card in his deck.
He’s hoping to win a few at his doctor’s appointment this morning. Maybe the you-can-start-exercising-a-lot card. Or the lift-anything-you-want card. Or best of all, the go-back-to-work-tomorrow trump card.
Things are gonna get ugly around here that doesn’t happen. But I’ve come up with the perfect solution for anybody who’s beating himself up for forgetting to send an anniversary card. You can send Hiram a man card instead!
Either that or a new mower. The perfect anniversary present for both of us!
by jphilo | Jun 29, 2012 | Daily Life
Discombobulated.
My adjective of choice after a discombobulated week that followed hard on the heels of a discombobulated month thanks to the man of steel’s back troubles. Sure, the surgeon used fancy-schmancy terms like “ruptured disk” and “disk extrusion.” But I knew he really meant Hiram’s back was…
Discombobulated.
This general term is more specific to our situation because though the doctor removed Hiram’s stitches on Monday, and said his recovery is going well, he also said the man of steel needs to be off work for at least two more weeks. So he can do physical therapy to strengthen his back. But when he’s not at physical therapy, he’s still puttering around. Which means his guitars are scattered throughout the house. Which makes me feel…
Discombobulated.
Don’t get me wrong. Having Hiram and his guitars around the house is pleasant. But his presence means I keep interrupting my work to ask him questions or tell him important stuff. Because writers take advantage of any distraction to avoid writing. Which means my daily writing routine is pretty…
Discombobulated.
My condition persists even though Hiram’s extra time off mean we were able to make a quick trip to Wisconsin to see Allen and Abbey earlier this week. Even though the extra time off means our upcoming trip Minneapolis for a baby shower won’t be rushed. Even though the extra recovery time means we can watch more episodes of Lost, which we became addicted to when Hiram couldn’t get around much. Even though I’m counting all those blessings, this creature of habit still feels…
Discombobulated.
Kinda like after we brought each of our babies home, and it took a few months to get used to the new normal. Except in this case, about the time I get used to the new normal, the doctor will say Hiram can go back to work. And I’ll sit around the house feeling…not lonely or aimless. No, I’ll once again feel…
Discombobulated.
by jphilo | Jun 14, 2012 | Family
Hiram is up and at ’em after Tuesday’s back surgery to remove the disk fragment pressing on his sciatic nerve. Since the source of his back pain was a disk fragment from the ruptured L4 vertebrae that migrated to the L3 region, I think 3 hospital thoughts for Thursday are in order. Here goes:
- We are very thankful for modified laprascopic neurosurgery and gifted surgeons who perform them. Thank you, Dr. Brandenberg!
- Nurses really are the worst patients. Especially if they’re
incarcerated being treated in the hospital where they work.
- Caring for a post-surgery spouse in the hospital is much easier than caring for a post-surgery newborn, toddler, preschooler, or adolescent child. May you never be able to make the comparison!
Do you have something to say about a recent hospital experience, either as patient or caregiver? Leave a comment!
by jphilo | Jun 11, 2012 | Family
Less than 24 hours until the resident man of steel goes under the knife for back surgery, and I’m not sure which one of us is looking forward to it the most.
Okay, the above statement is false.
Hiram is looking forward to it most, especially in the night when he’s trying to find a comfortable sleeping position, and I’m sawing logs, oblivious to his discomfort. But my anticipation of the surgery which will relieve his pain and speed his recovery is a close second to his.
Why am I so eager for this to be over?
Because men, even those in excruciating back pain and unable to putter around the house or lawn, consider H-E-L-P to be a four letter word. Of course, in a surface level, numeric sense, they’re right. But a man’s deep aversion to asking for H-E-L-P goes far below the surface. In the past few weeks, when we’ve been obliged to ask others for H-E-L-P, I’ve come to believe this male trait is hard-wired. And God agrees with me.
How do I know this?
Because, and I quote Genesis 2:18, Then the Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him.” Notice, God doesn’t say, “Hey, Adam, looks like that’s more than one guy can handle. Want a little H-E-L-P?”
And why doesn’t he ask that?
Because them’s fightin’ words for Adam, and God knows it. He knows Adam will refuse H-E-L-P when offered. He also knows Adam won’t ask for H-E-L-P when he needs it. So God, knowing Adam did need H-E-L-P, put him to sleep and made Eve indispensable before Adam woke up and had time to object.
And what kind of helper did God make?
Not someone strong enough to do all the heavy lifting, but someone who recognized when a task was more than she and Adam could handle and would ask for H-E-L-P. Yes, it’s true that she looked for H-E-L-P in the wrong place once and caused all sorts of problems. But this post is about men’s defective hard-wiring, not women’s. Though if some guy wants to tackle that subject in a future blog post, I’m more than willing to accept the H-E-L-P.
Any takers?
