Teamwork

First order of business: I’ve settled on a boyfriend pseudonym that I can live with.  Hereafter, he shall be referred to as Faramir, for he is learned, brave, and has a bit of a thing for shield maidens.

It’s been a busy, busy few days. Lots of financial stuff, lots of administrative stuff with the university (yes, I know it’s summer, but you all still have jobs, right?  Someone has to know how to process medical leave…or, as Faramir routinely mis-types it, medieval leave).  I’ve been doing a lot of running around: of Faramir, his mother, and me, I’m the only one with no job and full physical capabilities.  Someone’s got to be the gofer.

All the gofering left me pretty wiped out.  I was so exhausted that on Wednesday night, I had my first good night’s sleep on the hospital cot.  Permit me to describe this cot.  It is, I suppose, a step up from the armchair by the bed and the couch in the day room, where I spent nights in the hospital during his first week there.  When he was transferred to a private room, the nurses brought in the cot for me with great fanfare.  It is possibly the most uncomfortable thing-that-can-be-technically-defined-as-a-bed in which I have ever spent the night.  It’s enough to make our old, falling-apart bed at home seem luxurious by comparison, and let me tell you, that takes some doing.

The cot is missing some springs.  This means that, in addition to the dip in the middle (that comes from being folded, and which you can’t flatten out no matter how hard you try), there is also a dip to one side.  I managed to fix this the other night by jury-rigging some springs together, but in the middle of the night I rolled over, heard a dramatic clunk, and felt my body slouch into that old, familiar dip again.

I’m not sure whether it’s this unevenness, or the fact that the cot is just slightly too short, but as soon as I get into it, every muscle in my body starts to ache.  Especially my calves.  My calves can’t help but anticipate the awful cramps that they get in the morning if I forget where I am and try to stretch my legs out, so they start pre-cramping as soon as I lie down.  I spent most nights lying there, reminding my body that we’re all in this together.  “I know you’re uncomfortable, Muscles,” I say, “but for the sake of Brain and Feelings, it’s really important that we spend some nights in the hospital.  So loosen up, Calves.  Spine, quit complaining.  You’re young, you’ll be fine.  Neck, I know how much you hate these pillows, but you just can’t keep giving me these headaches in the morning.  We’ve all got to take one for the team.”  Eventually, I doze off…only to be awakened by someone coming in to check Faramir’s vitals.  Or his machine starting to beep because a bag of fluids is finished or he rolled over on a line or something.  I am learning to sleep through these distractions.

I didn’t intend this post as a detailed description of how much I hate the cot.  I’ve been composing a “big feelings” post in my head for several days now, but I guess it’s not ready to be written yet.

Stay tuned,

Brynhildr

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