Pain, with a drug induced fog. That’s how he’s living now. It’s going to be like this for at least six weeks. I can’t explain how frightened this makes me. Pain is one thing. I can relate to the pain. I can’t relate to the drugs. Hard core narcotics. Those frighten me, but oh my god, they are necessary. Pain is what you get when you saw through your muscle, tendon, and bone, with a power tool. Stupid freak accident.

“An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” Newton’s First Law of Physics

That’s how power tools work. They stay in motion until something makes them stop.  I don’t know what made the tool he used stop, but I’m grateful it stopped when it did. Surprisingly, there was very little blood. He missed his femoral artery by one inch. One. Stinking. Inch. That’s a blink of an eye measurement. He’s lucky.

“If the femoral artery is cut, a person can bleed to death – in a matter of seconds or a few minutes.”

The surgeon said his tendon is hanging on by a thread, as is the rest of the bone. He won’t be able to put his foot down or bend his leg for six weeks. And that’s just to let the bone heal. He still has to allow the muscle and tendon to finish healing. We all know it takes longer for soft tissue injuries to heal. I hope he remembers that as the days turn into weeks, then turn into months.

We’re on a weird schedule. Medicine, food, sleep. Ah, the medicines. Two types of pain killers, anti-blood clot injections, antibiotics, and a couple of other things.

I’m not a nurse. I only play one at home.

The schedule helps me manage his pain, helps him rest, and gives me a few moments to myself. Sleep for me is elusive. I sleep with one ear open, in case he needs something. It’s a crazy schedule — for both of us. For now, it works.

There have been many firsts these past few days.

First (and only) attempt up the stairs, on crutches, to the bedroom (because the bathroom is also upstairs). Frightening and highly stressful, but successful.

First time up and to the bathroom. He made it there and back to bed without incident.

Yesterday was a huge day of firsts. First bandage change, first shower – him in a chair, me, fully dressed, in the shower, with a dear friend holding his leg outside of the shower. First time I left the house for a bit, and first real feelings of helplessness. I am grateful for friends who understand the helplessness and offered their help. For once, I am accepting of it. For once, I admit, I cannot do this alone.

Yesterday was also a first for patience. Of which I lack. Big time. I’m learning as we go. I don’t have a choice. He needs me to be patient while he heals. I need to be patient not only for him, but for me.

A month ago I was living in San Francisco. After I moved back to the Farm, I mentioned to a good friend that the “Universe” has me right where I’m supposed to be. There’s a lesson here somewhere.

  7 comments for “Firsts…

  1. December 22, 2013 at 7:36 pm

    Very beautiful Sheree, to read this now months later – your strength and resilience shines, and now onto a new year…

    • Sherree Worrell
      December 22, 2013 at 7:53 pm

      Mila, thank you. This post was so hard to write, but I’m glad I did. It has been quite the year, but it is ending on a positive note. Wishing you wonderful things in the New Year.


  2. August 25, 2013 at 11:09 am

    There is always a lesson, although not always apparent. Love, prayers, positive vibes, tears, hugs and hope, my friend.

    • Sherree Worrell
      August 25, 2013 at 1:02 pm

      Thanks Martina for the support and encouragement. With regards to the lesson, I hope the message comes through all of the chaos. I’m a “thump” upside the head kind of person, when it comes to these types of lessons. I never seem to “get it” when it’s right in front of my face.

  3. Meg
    August 25, 2013 at 10:37 am

    Sherree, this is so scary and unimaginable. I’m so sorry he’s going through it, and you by extension (and in your own unique role in his recovery.) Your strength and presence of mind will be of so much comfort to him as he goes through all of this, but I’m proud of you for admitting what’s scary about it, and opening up to share even a bit of your experience. It’s tough to be there for someone, 24/7, but no doubt he is so thankful to have you.

    This calls for lots of Sephora. :) You’ll make it. We’re here for you if you need to cry / rant / share / laugh. xo

    • Sherree Worrell
      August 25, 2013 at 6:30 pm

      Thank you so much Meg for your kind words. The hardest part for me was acknowledging that I was scared and helpless. It is comforting to know that we have friends who are willing to help, when needed.

      As for Sephora — they need a wish list! My cart has too many things in it! This is what happens when you start going through every section.

      I appreciate “all of you” and know that there will be no judgement there, should I let off steam.

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