When: February 2013–2 years ago
Where: Northwest corner of USA
What: My husband is having trouble healing the way the doctor intended, after the third of what we never imagined would be nine reconstructive surgeries over 17 months
Well well well. No thank you Mercury for your f*ing retrograde self. We merrily drove to Seattle to see Dr. JR today and got slapped down. Poor P. Poor me. F* ing Dr. JR. Some stitches on P’s right nostril didn’t hold—again, apparently—and he wasn’t all that nice about it. Not like being nice is really required, but we’d gotten a little used to it. He scolded us heartily and told P to come back next Friday, and we’ve added another surgery to this.
P is sorry he even started. So am I, honestly. And today, I think Dr. JR was too. It’s long and hard and discouraging for him, too. It was a very very bad day. P is depressed and honestly so am I. I feel like it will never end. Now P has to be super calm and careful for a week, because if one more inside stitch goes, the rib cartilage will die and then… we start over.
Please God, don’t let that happen to us. We’ve been stupid and wrong. We’ve lied and made bad decisions about money and other things. But please have mercy on us and don’t punish us anymore, just now. Have mercy on us and let us heal. I wish I could help his boredom/loneliness/desperation. But I am out of ideas.
I am the one with nothing and no one, just a broken husband, beautiful as the sun but sliced and cut so many times he is unrecognizable.
Tell me what is the right thing to do. Tell me clearly. Write it on the wall. I am so tired.