After I was booted out of the room during Char’s last rehab session, she complained to the guy working with her that she hated the idea of getting too much out of shape. A month post-accident and she can already feel the effects of not being able to work out. Since it will be a very long time before she can entertain the idea of weight lifting or especially TKD, she wanted something to do to at least keep some endurance.

The solution was to throw her in the water. Instead of just 3 times a week, she’ll be doing rehab 5 times a week, twice in the pool, and as long as she can tolerate it she can get in the pool on her own to walk and stretch (especially stretch, so she can regain and retain her flexibility.) I am not welcome anymore during the (I feel harsh) PT, but I am welcome in the pool and can even help.

But no matter how many times she hints, I am not wearing a damned Speedo in the pool.

The kids are excited about the addition of swimming and water walking to her routine, because they can “help” when she’s in the pool to walk on her own. I can teach classes, and one of the kids can be with her in the pool (she’d be fine on her own, when the dojang pool is open there’s always a lifeguard, but integrating them into her recovery helps them as much as it does her.)

The key is going to be keeping her from overdoing. I know damn well better than to tell her to not do something, but at least she can’t get anywhere unless someone else drives her. So yeah, you might want to keep the popcorn coming because chances are, her level of activity is where the death-laser-eye stares will start and she might have a few choice things to say about me.

Bring it on. I can take it.

Make more popcorn.
You might need it.
He's actually not running from me now.

Thanks, Thump, for the template. One of these days I'll figure this stuff out.

I've been banned from the PT room while Char has rehab. I didn't say a word, I didn't stand up, I didn't do anything, but I looked like I wanted to (yeah, I did, I wanted to jump up and stop the whole damn thing.) Looks are, evidently, distracting and Char kicked me out.

They are seriously torturing her. I thought it was going to be a lot of walking and maybe some stretching but they're trying to fold her like origami. I'm not sure she can actually bend the way they want her to, but she's not giving up. I think I might give up before she does.

She hasn't had anything for the pain yet tonight because she wanted to be clear headed around the kids but I think in a few minutes we'll head upstairs so she can soak in the tub and embrace the Percoset fog.

Get the popcorn out, kids.

Char is right; the longer I’m off work the more I don’t want to go back. I had reservations about taking this job in the first place. I accepted an early retirement of sorts not too long after Kevin was born and went back to school, but a few years ago an offer was dangled in front of me that was difficult to pass up. It wasn’t an issue of pay, it was the idea that what I earned would secure a comfortable retirement when I was ready to actually retire.

After I finished my masters and PhD I taught a few classes, and I did quite a bit of first-reader editing work, and I enjoyed both of those immensely. I was home all the time, I was actively engaged in the dojang, and I spent hours every day with my kids. Just enough time was spent working to keep Char from being driven insane by my constant presence, and I loved what I was doing.

Then came the offer, and after a few weeks of debate I accepted it. I’ve spent weeks on the road, I’ve given up teaching, and other than a few favors I’ve done no editing or writing since then. I live on antacids. I don’t sleep much.

It should be an easy decision, but it’s not. We can live comfortably if I quit, but I have less certainty about thirty years from now than I did when I took the job. I have three kids to put through college, and I don’t doubt that each of them will complete at least a Master’s degree. Scholarships are possible but if not, I owe that to my kids; I owe it to them because I expect it of them.

Still, the more time I spend at home the more I think I don’t need the aggravation of long trips away from my wife and kids. I can make money some other way.

I don’t want to be half a world away and get another phone call like the one I got on July first.

We have time to decide; and without a doubt this is not something I would decide without Char’s considerable input. I might buy a car and hope she likes it, but I can’t quit a job and hope she doesn’t have valid reasons why I shouldn’t. I need her to help me clarify whether quitting would be a selfish want or a compelling need.

It can’t come down to money. It might, but it really shouldn’t come down to money.

Hard lesson for a 10 year old to learn: it's not wise to yell across the dojang floor Rachel has boobs! when your older brother is right there, waiting to give you an atomic wedgy.

In his defense, Kevin was not trying to be mean, he simply noticed for the first time. He also now has a basic understanding of how protective Alex is of their sister.

God help the first teenaged boy to blink at her.

For years Ian and I have had a date night. Between raising kids, his work schedule, and me teaching classes most evenings we didn't feel like we had enough us-only time, and decided we needed to set aside one night a month when we went out together without the kids. Because of the accident it had been almost two months since we went out alone, and even though neither one of us was sure I should, we went out to dinner tonight.

I needed to go home after just a couple of hours but it was still nice to be somewhere with him without having to listen to the kids argue. They've all been very good about it lately but I can tell they're reaching their limits with each other and are dying to start picking on each other again, and if we'd taken them, I'm sure it would have happened in the middle of the restaurant.

Before I left the hospital Ian got more than one lecture about not babying me and for the most part he's been very good about letting me do what I think I can and then pushing me to try to do a little bit more, so I was surprised when he loaded the wheelchair into the car tonight. Oh, but I was glad he did. Inching my way from the front of the restaurant to the table would have been torture, mentally and physically.

One of the things we talked about tonight was all the time he's taken off work lately. He has a few years worth of sick leave to bank on but the longer he's off the more he realizes he doesn't want to go back. He wants to teach again, not just TKD but psychology as well. I think he'd forgotten how much he loves to teach little kids and Friday and Saturday just made him want it more.

Someone is going to have to take my place and it would be nice if it was him.

There were a dozen other things I think we wanted to talk about but I was getting too uncomfortable so he brought me home. Right now he's downstairs putting his foot down because Kevin is up past his bedtime (my dad is here and he's a terrible influence) but once he's got Kevin headed in the right direction he'll come back upstairs and we can pick up where we left off. Rachel always heads to bed when she's supposed to and my dad will kick Alex up the stairs before midnight.

Don't make any popcorn though. The only show tonight will be two very tired people propped up in bed talking until one of them falls asleep. I don't think we'll even argue about it ;)

Show's over.
Go home.
Everyone here is now happy.

Leave the poporn, though. I'm kind of hungry now.

There are only three classes on Friday at the dojang, but TK needed a break. Brad was coming over to hang with his grandkids anyway so I took the classes and I’ll take two of the three tomorrow. Some unsuspecting advanced student will take the third and Alex will help with the younger students, as Saturday is usually pretty busy.

I don’t teach nearly as often as I would like, and many of the beginning students did not know me other than the guy married to Mrs. Murphy. The others had a class or two with me but didn’t appear to be any more confident about having me there leading the class. Classes like these are almost funny; they’ve already learned a bit of discipline and show respect to both TK and Char, but I think most of them were afraid of me.

The side glances that I get when I walk down lines of sweating students during warm up is amusing and I can practically feel the terror. They don’t know what I’m going to do to them. The rumors that swirl around regarding or rank tests are thick and anyone who has been training for more than a couple of weeks has heard one or two of them, including the agony of sparring with “that instructor” and how hard he pushes. People have even thrown up after he’s done with them.

I do push hard during rank tests. It’s not a simple measure of skill; I already know going into the test who has the necessary skills and who’s on the bubble. But when you push someone in a stressful situation they will either choke or they will pull every resource they have and refuse to quit. I want to see which student is going to gut it out.

The new students can’t know that how hard I push depends on how long they have been training and what they’re expected to know, and how in shape I expect them to be. It’s vastly different to test for a yellow belt with me than it is for brown belt or black belt. The first rank test is fairly straightforward and the only real stress is fear. If you’re testing for black belt, I will torture you.

These kids tonight don’t know that. They only know what they’ve heard and what they’ve heard is that I will run them into the ground. No one has told them that I find something powerful in teaching through play. With the average age hovering around 11 years old, tonight the beginner class seemed to be a good place for Simon Says and Mugger in the Middle. While they’re engaged in a game I can see how they’re executing technique when they think they’re not being judged. I make mental notes on the things the students as a whole need to work on, and things specific students need more attention with.

At some point they’ll come to understand that my tests and my classes are two different things, and while I am strict I’m not a hardass. It was nice to show these kids tonight that they can have fun with me. And it was a good reminder for me that I need to take on more classes.

Char wants to go tomorrow so that her students can see that she’s really all right. I’m not entirely sure about it since the little ones will want to rush at her with hugs. She says she’ll deal with it. We’ll see. (I don’t pretend that I actually get a vote.)

It’s one step closer to life getting back to normal, I suppose.

She still won't let me do laundry.
WTF?

Today she got a half cast on her arm, which gives her more mobility and lessens the chances of me being nailed when she rolls over and thinks her hand is lower than it actually is. I may start sleeping in a cup, however, in case she scores a much unwanted strike.

Damn. My wife has a mouth on her when she’s ticked off.

I am very glad I’m not her rehab specialist.

Holy shit.

Oh sure, it was a real hardship to trade a 10 year old car in on this (OK this is not the actual car, but other than the color looks just like it.) We may be fighting over who gets it later. It'll haul 7 adults, so we should be good to go.

Alex thinks it will be his in 3 years. I think Alex need to rethink that notion.

I didn’t want him to trade his convertible in on a new car. It didn’t make sense because we were going to need two cars at some point and I have no issue with him picking something out for me to drive later. He loves that convertible, too, and we’ve had a lot of fun in it, taking long rides while the kids are in school. I was outvoted, though. He doesn’t make unilateral decisions very often, but Rachel keeps pointing out to him that if it had been his little car involved in the accident the outcome would have been very different. He made the decision before I was out of the hospital.

So he’s out right now going through the headache of buying a new car and getting rid of his toy, not because the idea of being in an accident in it bothers him, but because his little girl is afraid every time he gets behind the wheel of it. I don’t know what she’ll do the first time his gets on his motorcycle, but I know we’re not giving those up.

The thing is, as much as he’s loved that car I doubt he’ll have regrets, because that’s just the way he is. I have a feeling he’ll come home in a tank, just to make the kids feel better and I won't hear a complaint until he realizes how bad the gas mileage is.

The doctor signed Char’s release papers just before lunch today and she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Which was slightly impeded by the fact that her walking pace right now is roughly that of an inebriated snail. She relented to using a wheelchair to get to the car and wanted to stop for lunch on the way home (anything other than hospital food) and once we were home she spent a little time with the kids and then let me help her up the stairs so that she could take a nap. She’s royally wiped out and I don’t expect her to have a whole lot of energy for the next couple of days.

To say the kids were over the top excited that she got to come home is an understatement. The noise level jacked up high enough that even Alex was annoyed by it and suggested that since their mother would need to sleep the rest of the day maybe they should go over to Grandpa’s. As generous as that sounds, it’s tempered by my discovery that Brad just bought a 73” plasma TV, which trumps the 52” my kids are forced to suffer with. He also bought a Wii and let them each pick out 2 games which makes him Supergrandpa; forget the fact they have a perfectly good Xbox.

No, really, I was impressed at Alex’s consideration and grateful for it. I’m not sure how happy Char will be when she wakes up and the kids are gone but I’ll deal with that fallout when I have to. She can get mad. All I care about is that she’s home.

On the agenda tomorrow is trading my car in for something practical. I can’t cart the family around in my little convertible and it’ll be a while before Char can drive, and when she is able I want her to be able to pick out what she wants, not what I think she might like. Wednesday she starts rehab and with any luck on Thursday she gets her cast cut down so that she’ll have elbow movement.

Right now I regret that our church doesn’t have daily mass anymore. You can bet I feel like going. I am so farking grateful. More than I can actually express.

Shut up, Thump.

She kicked me out of her hospital room early tonight. She killed PT today and was tired and wanted to go to sleep, but mostly, she wanted me to try to sleep because she farking gets to come home tomorrow.

Do I feel like a kid on Christmas eve? Hell yes. By all rights that wreck should have killed her, but just shy of 3 weeks and she'll be home.

I was happy enough to hear that that I didn't even try to bitch slap the rehab guy when he was obviously ogling my wife's legs (and to be fair, he was telling me that 80% of why she's going home is because she was in extremely good physical condition pre-wreck, and has leg muscles like iron. But he was still checking her out.)

You definitely find out who your friends are when shit like this hits the fan. People I presumed would give a damn apparently didn't, and people who I thought would only be mildly interested were incredibly supportive.

And everyone out there who doesn't know us from the next person in the cyberspace line, I deeply appreciate your good wishes, prayers, and support. I believe in that kind of karmic energy, and damned if it didn't work.

There's a long road of rehab and healing ahead of her, but hell yeah, she's coming home!

(It’s 3 am and I’m sleepy as hell but can’t manage it, and when I’m tired I tend towards the verbose. So this wound up being a lot longer than I expected it to be and more detailed. I might regret that after a few hours of sleep.)

Last night Kevin fell asleep in Char’s room and Rachel seemed to want some time alone her mother so Alex and I took a walk. His attitude is still surly and defiant and I thought it would be a good time to talk to him. I needed him to understand that I get his upset and I don’t blame him for being disappointed that I wasn’t sitting around waiting for Char to walk into my life but the attitude has to stop.

Intellectually he knows that we had lives before he was born and that a large part of those lives were spent not even knowing the other existed, but he had this vision of us at our jobs and having fun with friends, waiting to stumble onto each other. He expected that there had been boyfriends and girlfriends in high school, but not that either of us had ever been in love with someone else. And especially neither of us had ever had sex with anyone else.

I had to ask him if he realistically expected that he would wind up as a thirty year old virgin, waiting for Ms. Right. That may have clarified the idea for him. But he was equally surprised to find out that I dated the same girl throughout junior high, high school, and college, and married her just weeks after graduation, and yet we did hold out for marriage. That’s what was expected of us, and one of us was determined to wait. (Yeah, just one of us, though I don’t think I complained too much.)

That might open a whole new door for conversation, what I expect of him in terms of dating and sex when he’s older. We didn’t pursue that very far, mostly because I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m going to like what he has to say about his experience so far. He’s six weeks from turning fourteen and I know he’s not the complete innocent I’d like him to be, but it didn’t feel like the right time to go down that road.

He had tons of questions. Did I get married just because I wanted sex? Was I happily married? Why did we get divorced and who wanted it first? Tricky questions that don’t necessarily have clear cut answers, and while those things have been spinning around in his head I wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth. I think he wanted me to tell him I only got married because I was tired of waiting and that it became a miserable thing that I couldn’t wait to get out of.

I don’t think it was ever miserable. It wasn’t comfortable in the last four or five years but that was because we’d realized we wanted different things from each other. I could honestly tell Alex that I had never actually proposed to my ex; we’d been together so long that when my college graduation was looming she and her mother started making wedding plans because that was the next logical step. Surely that’s what I wanted, too. I never saw a reason not to. I did love her. I still loved her the day she handed me divorce papers, but he didn’t need to know that (neither did he need to know that she was, in the words of a friend, bat shit crazy and presented me with this news on Christmas Eve, like it was a gift.) There was a long list of reasons why ending the marriage was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t because we had stopped loving each other.

The reason that seemed safe to tell him, and one that was true, was that I seriously wanted kids and she realized she didn’t (at least not with me. I have no reasonable explanation for her later marrying some guy with custody of his six kids. Bat shit crazy may apply.) There were a dozen more reasons for sure, otherwise I doubt I would have felt as relieved as I did when I realized I really was getting out, but that was the biggest and the one I think he could relate to.

Whether he’s okay with it or not he at least accepts it and admits it’s not like I can go back and change anything. Would I if I could? I don’t know. Sex was a large part of why I went along with all the wedding plans and I don’t remember having that same drive of needing to spend my life with her that I felt with Char. Love is one thing, but I keep thinking that it was like two good friends deciding that getting married was better than not doing anything, so why not? We both wanted sex, but we lacked passion for each other. If you ask Char (and I have) she wouldn’t want me to pass up that part of my life. I might have gotten married because it was expected of me and I was horny enough to go along with it, but she understands it helped shape who I was when we both wanted to move past being people who worked together to something more.

Alex swayed from wanting to know more about my first marriage to wanting to know about how his mother and I got together. He knew she was an administrative assistant in the office I was working out of but we’d never told him how we got from that to a proposal to “Um, guess what? I might be, um, just a little bit, oh wow, pregnant.” I had a hard time explaining that the end of my first marriage might have played a small part in the start of my second.

It may not have happened if my ex had not gifted me with divorce papers on Christmas Eve. I had hit the feeling of relief already by New Years Eve and went to the office party alone. I figured I’d stay for a while and get drunk if I could. Char was there with a blind date and at some point we both wound up outside on the patio trying to escape the noise. It was around ten o’clock and we sat outside and talked, and it was surprisingly comfortable. When the noise inside got louder we realized it was nearly midnight and she stood up and mumbled something about going inside to find her date because hell, you start the new year with a kiss. I told her that you only did that if you wanted to end the next year with the person you started it with, and considering he hadn’t even looked for her in nearly two hours, did she really want to end the year with him?

If she had wanted to, we could hear people inside counting down and she’d never be able to find him in time. So yeah, I did it. When the horns and poppers started going off I kissed her. I was still technically married and didn’t have a right to, but I had that feeling that I wouldn’t mind one bit if I ended the next New Years Eve with her. And she kissed me back, really kissed me, so I was sure I hadn’t ticked her off.

It couldn’t be that simple though. I would have liked for it to have been. She didn’t mind being my NYE kiss and wasn’t opposed to the idea that in a year we might be at the same party and be there together. But, she didn’t want to be the first woman I dated post-divorce. And she didn’t want to be the only woman I dated post-divorce. Before she would even think about even just one date, she wanted me to see other people. How many?

If I dated twenty five different women, she would go out to dinner with me (and this is where I seriously disappointed my son, who in spite of wishing that his mother had been the only woman ever in my bed, assumed that I had slept with all 25. I did not. Not even one of them.) At first I was annoyed because it made no sense to me. Why 25? Why even one? Why risk that I might fall for someone else? She stuck to it. If I didn’t date 25 different women, she wasn’t going out with me. Period.

I whined about this to Dack. I didn’t know 25 women to begin with. He picked up the phone and called one of the women he dated off and on and asked her to be my first date, just lunch somewhere public. She was in the building’s secretarial pool, and after that lunch date she spread the word: Murf is on a mission. He needs 24 more dates and he wants them to be over with as quickly as possible so that Charlie Simms will give him a chance.

She lined up 20 dates for me, and they all knew why. And at some point Dack told my soon to be ex what I was up to, and she set me up with four more. When I asked her why she shrugged it off and said she wanted me to be happy, she knew Char and didn’t see a reason why we wouldn’t fit together. She suspected we would.

In a little over a month I went out with as many women as she said she wanted me to. She didn’t believe it at first, not until Dack backed me up. And I don’t think she ever knew how I managed it (not until now. They were all pity dates agreed to by women who wanted to see me get the girl. I’m not too proud to admit that.) She agreed to the dinner date, and then another after that. She stuck by me through the hassles of the divorce and the application for an annulment, yet wouldn’t help me pick out furniture for my apartment (and without help I admit, I wound up with just a mattress on the floor, a couple of lamps, and my laptop.) I thought it was resistance into getting that far into my life, turns out she didn’t want to help furnish an apartment she hoped I wouldn’t be in for too long. I stayed in that apartment for a lot longer than either of us expected or wanted me to, because one of us held back for almost 10 months. She didn’t whine too much about that.

A year after that first kiss we were at the office NYE party together. We made sure that when midnight was close we were right next to each other. I know she expected me to kiss her, but I don’t think she expected me to propose.

A couple of weeks later we realized the rabbit hadn’t passed out from excitement, it was dead. We’d planned on getting married during summer, but that changed everything. I wasn’t willing to wait any longer than we had to, and two weeks after that we got married. Alex is not upset that he was born just seven months later, most of the time he thinks it’s funny.

When he was quizzing me about how Char and I met, and how we fell for each other, it wasn’t quite as funny. He had a very adult reaction to it: do I regret that I didn’t get to spend a few years alone with her, enjoying kid-less life before starting a family?

Absolutely not. By the time we realized she was pregnant I’d spent over a year falling for her (and without embarrassment I’ll freely admit that I fell so deeply that I still sweat mushy things), and that he came earlier than we would have planned was like icing on the cake.

All in all I think Alex is now (mostly) okay with knowing that I have a first wife, because he’s done the math and realizes I’ve been married longer this time around and he’s starting to understand just how important his mother is to me. He won’t really get it completely until he’s grown but that’s all right. He only has to accept it for now.

Kevin, during dinner:

Dad, did you know that when you got married that first time that Mom was like nine months younger than Alex is right now?

Yeah. Thanks for that, son.

I may be the only person in the U.S. who hasn’t read all the Harry Potter books and who hasn’t seen all the movies, but I took the kids to see the latest one today. I didn’t pretend to know what was going on, the kids liked it and that’s all that matters. The consensus seems to be that Kevin wants to be Harry Potter, Rachel wishes Hogwarts was real, and Alex, Alex wants the girl that plays Hermione. Given his apparent penchant for older girls, I am not surprised. He was not amused when I pointed out she is older than the girl I will not allow him to see, and he’s still not dating until he’s 16.

After the movie I took the kids to see Char and they spent most of the afternoon there. Kevin brought a deck of cards and roped everyone into his version of poker, in which a pair of twos beats a pair of jacks, unless he’s holding the jacks, in which case they are wild. Everyone gets 5 cards, but he gets 6, because the youngest player is allowed an advantage. I blame this on my father. Before he died he spent quite a bit of time trying to teach my kids to gamble, in spite of my protests, and he tended to make up his own rules, too.

Brad picked them up and they’re spending the night with him. It gives Dack and Theresa a break from babysitting (although they are not babysitting Alex, they are merely his backup. This is his official version.) Because they’re with their grandfather I didn’t feel too bad about staying late at the hospital and Char wanted me there. Even with the rehab from hell this morning, after a nap she felt like wandering the halls and waited until the kids were gone. We went to the cafeteria for dinner and then found a fairly nice waiting room that had a big screen TV and a sofa instead of those hard chairs you usually find.

The bonus here was watching Char move herself from the wheelchair onto the sofa. It wasn’t easy and I know it was painful but I think she mostly wanted to prove to me that she could do it. And fark yes I was impressed. Double bonus: (roll your eyes all you want and I’ll shake the sand out of my vag later, BUT) this was the first time we’ve been able to sit together and I’ve been able to just hold her. I got whacked by the arm cast a few times but she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’s been lately, and she hasn’t had to take as much Percoset today. Downside: an escalating level of frustration. Use your imagination.

Tomorrow the leg brace comes off and she’ll try to walk without it. I’m frankly a little weirded out by the idea of her walking on a broken leg but I’ve been assured by more than one person that because of the rods that this is normal. I think they’re going to seriously push her over the weekend and if they’re convinced she’s ready for private rehab and if they’re convinced I am on board with the program and won’t turn into some sniveling enabler, she’ll be able to go home.

I don’t think that will help the frustration level any, but I’d rather be frustrated with her at home than in the hospital. And fark, women, you people can be mean about it sometimes.

A slice of news to me: Char probably could have gone home by Friday, but the PT people feel I will not push her hard enough at home. In fact, they are sure I will baby her and not let her do even routine things that she needs to attempt on her own. My assurances mean little, so she’s staying over the weekend. No, I don’t like seeing her in pain and I will do everything I can to make that not happen, but I’m not stupid and I understand that there is a process to recovery that would be in her best interests to suffer through.

I have arranged for private PT and I’ve taken a leave of absence so that I can drive her to and from every day. I won’t try to make her lounge in bed all day. If she says she can do something then she can do it except try to walk down the stairs on her own.

Tonight she is mad as hell, but it has nothing to do with laundry or anything stupid I’ve said or done or not said or done. Tonight she was informed by the orthopedic surgeon that she can forget TKD for at least a year because it’s going to take at least that long for her to heal enough. If she goes back before then she risks disability. The dojang has already lost Dack as a regular instructor and I haven’t been on the schedule on a weekly basis for several years. Mostly it’s TK and Char and without her he’s going to take on a significant burden. I can step up and take a couple of classes a week but once I go back to work I’m not sure how many classes I can teach.

It will eventually work out, but she’s freaking out at the idea that not only can she not train, but the onus is on TK. Long story short on him, he was just getting back to having a social life and having to take most of the classes is going to be a kick in the nuts for him.

Dack dropped the kids off to have lunch with Char and me today and we went down to the cafeteria. Alex is grunting at me, which is an improvement. He evidently told Rachel and Kevin about my horrible past of having an ex-wife and they had questions, but neither of them is upset by the idea. For Rachel it was more of a so-what thing and Kevin feigned shock and said dramatically “Well next thing I know you’re going to tell me I’m adopted!” He got an almost-laugh out of Alex and a “they found you under a rock” from Rachel.

I get what’s happening with Alex. 12-16 can be hard years, especially with boys. Still, the entire process of individuation isn’t any easier because I know that’s what’s happening. We’ve been butting heads for a few months and we’ll keep butting heads, and from his POV it doesn’t help that Char and I are considerably more strict that his friends’ parents seem to be. I’ll give him another day or two to chew on it but at some point I have to let him know the attitude is unacceptable and I’m finished tolerating it. Any other time I would have put my foot down by now but I have to give the kids some leeway right now. He may be less angry about finding out about my ex than he is that he needs his mother to come home.

I would have guessed that of all the kids Kevin would be taking this the hardest, but he’s doing better than I expected. It helps that Char calls him every day. Rachel is pretty much the same, as long as she can talk to Char and knows that everything is eventually going to get back to normal she’s fine. Alex, though, I think he feels quite a bit like I do. Like he should have been able to do something to stop this from happening and that he should be able to do something now to help her feel better and to heal. There’s a lot of anger directed at me because while he wishes he could fix everything, I should have fixed everything by now. It doesn’t matter that he also understands that’s not remotely realistic. It’s just age and his disposition at work.

As annoyed as he is--I came home tonight to find my laundry done and folded and stacked on my bed. And he did it for me.

Tomorrow I am not heading for the hospital as early (and Char is already aware of this and doesn’t expect me) to spend some time with the kids. They’ve been patient enough and even though they’ve had fun with Dack and Theresa it would be nice if they got to have some fun with one of their parents. I don’t do well sitting in theaters but there’s a movie they want to see and I’d selfishly like to be the one that takes them. Dack and Theresa would if the kids asked, but it would also be nice if they didn’t have to ask anyone and they just got to go.

Wow, my first post. When we decided to start a blog I doubt either one of us thought it would ever become a venue by which we could update friends and family about an accident. I’m glad it’s been here for Ian because it has given him an outlet that he needed and likely saved several people from his nonstop chatter :) We had decided from the start that we would approach this blog with complete honesty, and truly with him what you see, or read in this case, is what you get.

I just wanted to thank everyone for their well wishes and prayers. I am ready to go home, however it does not appear that will happen for until after the weekend; I am grateful that I get to go home at all, regardless. I am also grateful that Ian has been so dedicated in his care for me; he has been incredibly patient (with me, the staff, not so much) and I couldn’t ask for more. It’s no secret to his friends that he wears his heart on his sleeve, but to see him be this public about it touches me deeply.

One handed, this has taken over an hour to type, but I did want to thank everyone. Ian is on his way home and I am sure he will post again, and he probably won’t be happy when he does. We’re both ready for me to go home.

The PT has been jacked up a notch. I got to the hospital this morning and she had already been put through the wringer. Her father was already there and met me in the hallway with the news that she didn’t want to see me yet, which was the quickest way to get me into her room to be honest. They were done but she was in tears from it and I guess wanted to calm down before I went in. I understand that but it’s not as if I’ve never seen her cry.

She’s making good progress and we can go anywhere in the hospital she feels like going as long as we keep in mind that she’s going to tire easily. And also that we don’t let her move past the range that her pain medication can work in. Her on-foot mobility is limited to getting between the bed and the bathroom with help but this morning they pushed her a little harder. Which accounts for the tears.

She completely does not want me anywhere around during her PT, and I think she’s afraid I’ll punch someone for the pain they’re putting her through.

In a moment of absurdity, after she’d had something for the additional pain, I think we had a fight. No I’m not 100% sure it was a fight, it might just have been me balking at orders she was issuing. And it was over laundry. But she was mad as hell.
Sometime between having Alex (he’s still not talking to me) and having Rachel (thank god she is) I was banned from doing laundry. I’d turned a few loads of white pink and gray, and I then tried to wash 10 pairs of jeans at the same time. They fit in the washer so I didn’t think anything about it until the motor burned out. That was the last time I was allowed near her washer and dryer. And it was not on purpose.

This morning Kevin informed me he had already turned all of his underwear inside out once and didn’t think he should do that again (50-50 chance he was kidding but I can never be sure with that kid). So I told the kids to gather up their clothes and I would do laundry when I got home.

I should not have mentioned that to Char. I should have just done it. I made the mistake of asking where she kept the detergent and holy shit. Touch the washer and lose your favorite body part was the essence of what she had to say to me.

This is laundry, not rocket science. Still, she was on the phone telling Rachel and Alex to do their own laundry and to help Kevin do his. I think this is where I balked. My ten year old is allowed near HER washer but I am not? And what the hell do I do when I run out of clean clothes?

Shopping. Seriously. That was her solution.

But yeah, all the things we could have talked about, and we argued about whether or not I should be allowed to do laundry. And damn we both got mad, which is pretty rare. She actually asked me to leave the room for a while, which I was sure had nothing to do with laundry.

I learned a long time ago, if she asks me to talk a walk, I take a walk. It means I’ve either stepped over a line or she needs time to regroup (which means she’s thinking of further ammunition.) Or I’ve hurt her feelings enough that she wants to cry. So I left to walk the halls and called the kids to make sure they were doing what their mother told them to do, and it sounds like Rachel had everything in hand.
Because the whole thing was borderline absurd I walked around for a lot longer than I usually do trying to figure out what the real problem is.

I could pull a ton of psychobabble out of my ass to define the stress the entire family is under but ultimately I realized that we’re just both getting cranky. She’s still hurting and doesn’t want to be there anymore and I’m still sleep deprived and ready for her to come home. And that was probably half if it but ultimately not all of it and I had to wait until almost seven o’clock to pull it out of her.

It’s not the laundry but it is my fault. Tomorrow it will have been two weeks since her accident and in all that time I have apparently been conspicuous in my avoidance of touching her. She’s seen me hold the kids and I’ve kissed every one of them in front of her, but I’ve barely touched her at all.


Yeah, I’m a farking idiot. For the most part I’ve worried about hurting her but I never asked her what was all right and what wasn’t. She says it feels like high school and all will-he-or-won’t-he every time I leave. She just wanted a kiss and I’ve disappointed her every time. It’s not that I never considered it but her damned nose was broken and all I thought about was how much it would hurt her. I should know better and should have considered the emotional pain over the physical and asked her want she wanted from me besides someone arguing with her nurses.

I won’t make that mistake again.

And I am so sorry, angel. I’ll be kicking myself in the ass all night.

The timeframe she’s looking at now is coming home on Monday. I had hoped for Friday but the PT people told her today that she should expect to be there over the weekend. I’ll talk to her doctor tomorrow and try to pin him down, because it would be nice to be able to give the kids something more definite.

It’s easy to forget that your kids have not been in your life forever. When they’re almost 14 it feels like they’ve always been there, rolling their eyes and pointing out just how old you are. Granted, I recall life before Alex, but I don’t always clue in to the fact that things happened that he has no idea about.

I got home at one in the morning and he was still up. It took a few minutes for me to clue in that he was waiting for me.

Someone gave my brother my phone number and Alex had a nice long talk with him. There’s a reason my brother was not given my phone number, so I’ll be having an unpleasant discussion with someone soon. Alex knows there’s tension between my siblings and I but he answered the phone and what was he going to do, hang up on his uncle?

Supposedly, my brother wanted to know how Char is doing. Before the conversation ended he made a point of telling Alex to tell me that Kathy says hello. He apparently drove the point home. “Kathy really wants him to know she’s thinking about him and says hello.” My brother discussed Kathy at length, telling Alex how funny she is, and how pretty, and that they’re very happy together.

The problem with all that is that Kathy is my ex-wife, and Alex knew nothing about her. I did not intend to hide from him the fact that I was married for ten years to someone else. It just never came up. Char and I don’t sit around discussing my former wife, why would we? But Alex was delivering this message from an uncle he doesn’t know well enough to understand the mind games he plays, and of course he wanted to know who Kathy was.

He gets that I was in my thirties when I married his mother. He gets that I probably had a life in my twenties, but he never guessed that I spent it married to someone else.

I answered the questions that followed this revelation to him. No, I don’t have other kids that he’s never met and I didn’t leave my ex-wife for Char even though we married a year later, and I absolutely did not marry her just because she was pregnant. I didn’t know she was when I proposed. I was not the one who wanted to end my first marriage but I was relieved when Kathy did. We got married when we were only 22 and had started dating when we were his age; she is why I won’t allow him to date until he’s 16.

In all this he had to learn that not only was I married before but that his uncle is a head case and no matter what he was saying, he doesn’t have a clue where Kathy even is. They are not together; she is happily married to someone else and years ago moved several states away from my brother. She is just the thing he tries to goad me with, but I don’t know why.

My son’s disappointment is understandable. I am not supposed to have ever loved anyone but his mother and I certainly was never supposed to have been married to someone else. I’m not sure how I can make him understand that it’s like apples and oranges. My first marriage pales in comparison to my marriage to Char. I loved Kathy, but I *LOVE* Char. Somehow I have to make him understand that my life before his mother is not a betrayal to her, because right now that’s what it feels like to him.

He was up when I got up at six this morning and wanted to go to the hospital with me, but because of Char’s morning PT I had to tell him he needed to wait. I felt like crap for it but she needs to be focused on that. I promised I would call him when she was done and if she was up to it his grandfather would bring him over and I would leave them alone so that they could talk. And they did; while I went into work which gave them a good two hours without even a chance I could eavesdrop.

He is, she told me later, more than a little disappointed. He understands, yet he doesn’t. He’s surprised that she’s not bothered by the fact that I was married when we met. He’s not sure what bothers him the most, that I have an ex-wife or that he never knew about her. The only thing remotely funny in his how he feels right now was that he asked her quite seriously if she realized that if I was married to someone else that probably meant I’d had sex with someone else once or twice.

Yes, Alex, just once or twice.

We had dinner tonight with the kids in her room, and he was very quiet through the whole thing. When I got home tonight he was in his room and obviously did not feel like talking. I know I have to give him time to digest everything, but after that I’m not sure where I go with this.

First thing is bitch slapping the person who gave my brother my phone number and the blog URL. He may have meant well, but there’s a list of reasons we don’t speak. I can tack this onto the bottom. It’s probably number 3,000.

I could probably go home now, but tonight she wanted me to stick around until she was asleep. Her pain levels have jacked up quite a bit what with the getting in and out of bed and she just doesn’t feel like being alone. I get that. When I’m awake at three in the morning part of it is not wanting to be alone.

As long as she doesn’t try to manage it alone she can get up, and since she can get up they pulled the catheter this morning. She was relieved to be rid of it, mostly because Kevin has taken it upon himself to the collection bag periodically and to inform her that she’s obviously not drinking enough. He announces it in a very serious voice which I find funny as hell, but she’s had enough. She’s coping with the indignities of having to have help and I’m not very sympathetic because I’ve been there and suffered through her telling me to get the hell over myself.

Tomorrow we should know more about when we can expect her to be released. I’m amazed at how much better she gets every day, though the pain of PT might set her back a day or two. After we talk to her doctor tomorrow I have to go into work for a little while and put in for a leave of absence. It could be sticky because I haven’t been at this job very long but it’s with the same agency, so theoretically I have enough backlogged vacation and sick days that it shouldn’t be an issue.

The kids need her home. Just visiting for an hour a couple of times a day isn’t cutting it. They’re not sleeping very well, either. I’ve had Kevin in bed with me two nights in a row, and had both Rachel and Alex wandering through the house in the middle of the night. Rachel does not want to discuss with me the things that are bothering her, but she’s talking to Alex. Alex is talking to me, which frankly amazes me when you consider how hard we’ve been butting heads this summer.

The gist of it is that I obviously know nothing about female biology and would be useless to her, so Alex found himself standing in a drugstore with his sister trying to help her figure out what supplies she needed. They could have asked Brad, who was forced to wait by the door, but he too is monumentally stupid and women hide from both of us during “that time.” I don’t know why she thought her 13 year old brother would know more than I do, but he’s convinced they picked out the wrong thing (they did) and before I head home I have to fix it without letting my daughter know that I know. Because she certainly is not going to talk to me about THAT.

Char thinks it’s funny. She told Rachel to talk to me but the mortification is too much to overcome, I guess. Char is also a little upset because this is something she felt like she needed to be there for Rachel. I would have thought either parent would suffice, but again, I am stupid. I’ve determined that the older my kids get, the stupider I will become.

PT today was short and consisted of Char getting up and hobbling across the room to sit in the recliner while being held up by a woman so small if Char had fallen over on top of she probably would have snapped in half. An hour later she hobbled back. She says it hurt like hell but not nearly as much as she was afraid it would.

This afternoon they brought a wheelchair into the room and as long as she has help, she can get up and be pushed up and down the hall. We did that for about twenty minutes and by then she was tired enough to get back in bed and sleep for a while. She's hoping that tomorrow she'll have enough energy to go to the cafeteria and have lunch with the kids, and I'm hoping she doesn't wind up disappointed. She might feel like it but that doesn't mean Nurse Ratchet is going to let her off the floor.

Her nurse told me today that I need to make arrangements for continued PT after she's released and I need to consider her mobility around the house. That makes me think she's improving enough that she could be sent home by the end of the week.

We already have a wheelchair and ramp if she needs it and the downstairs bathroom is completely accessible. Mostly I need to worry about her getting around upstairs but we'll figure it out.

I’ll take progress anyway we can get it. After noting that Char was sitting up in bed with the head of the bed raised, and that it didn’t bother her, they decided to get her up today. She complained about it and I think I know two or three new swear words, but she was on her feet for several seconds and sat in a recliner for an hour or so. As long as she’s not moving, she’s not in too much pain.

She can also move the right side of her body with less pain. It’s more like the pain you get the day after a hard workout now. And this sounds selfish, but the benefit to me is that it’s eased up enough that I can sit on the edge of the bed with her, and damn I needed the hug I got today.

The other benefit is that touching of any kind creeps the teenager out.

There’s a 50-50 chance that she’ll have to face a physical therapist tomorrow. I’m not sure what that will entail but the nurse warned she might have to try to take a few steps. I think I might be more freaked out about that than Char is. I’ve broken my leg before, and there’s no way I could have walked on it a week later. She’s got a brace on the leg but still, it’s broken and the idea of bearing weight and how much that’s going to hurt has me mentally cringing on her behalf.

I will not be allowed anywhere near the room while this is going on. I’ve already been warned.

Kevin did much better seeing her today, but he got out of bed a little while ago and came in here. I think he was hoping to crawl into bed with me while I was already asleep. If I was asleep, he wouldn’t get turned around and sent back to his own bed. But right now the rules aren’t sticking and I let him stay. It’s interesting how much you can learn from a kid when he’s sleepy and his defenses are down. It’s been a long time since he’s been willing to cuddle up to me and talk.

And I get that I need sleep and I’m not going to do my family any good if I don’t get some soon. Because of the kids I absolutely cannot medicate myself to make that happen. The kid sleeping in my bed is a prime example. The kids are just as stressed out as I am and they might need me in the middle of the night. I’ll get more rest when Char is home and until then I’ll suck it up and occasionally post at three in the morning when I’m tired enough to be overly sentimental.

I love my wife. If anyone has a problem with it, I’ll bend over while they pucker up.

It’s three o’clock in the morning and I’ve gone to bed three different times and gotten up every time. When I left the hospital tonight I was sure that I’d be finally able to sleep tonight—Char is doing much better and even though she’s in quite a bit of pain still it’s obvious she’s on the upswing. When she doesn’t move she feels almost normal. So I should be able to relax by now. While I wasn’t sure the first couple of days, she’s not going to die. So I should be able to sleep, but I don’t know why I can’t. Guilt? It feels like that. Projection? Possibly. She doesn’t want me spending nights at the hospital but I feel like that’s where I should be. It’s not like I’m getting more sleep being at home.

I’ll be glad when she’s home. I have no idea how long it will be before we can even think of that. Two days ago I would have guessed weeks but yesterday and today make me think it might be a week or so. I suppose now it depends on how well she does when they start making her get out of bed to move. I understand that thinking it might be a week could be wishful thinking on my part.

Having her home isn’t necessarily going to let me sleep, but at least she’d be here.

Hey, don’t expect anything sensical out of me. No one should have to make sense after three a.m. when they haven’t slept more than 10 hours in three days.

I tend to forget what life looks like through the eyes of a little boy. Alex walk through life these days with a grown-up height of perspective. He’s already six feet tall and aside from the new-teenager hiccups he’s reasonable mature. Rachel is a few inches over five feet and she’s tough. She’s had to be in order to survive two brothers. But Kevin is small for even a ten year old—he’s a long way from hitting five feet and looks at everything from the same height as the average six year old. He has a big heart, though, and he tends to wear it on his sleeve.

I would do well to remember that with better clarity.

We decided that the kids would see her one at a time initially, just to see how it would go. Because Alex has been there, Rachel went in to see her first, and she was fine. Once I was sure she was all right I left the room, because I have been made acutely aware over the couple of days that there are things my daughter needs her mother to talk about with, and that would happen if I was there. Alex went in next because Kevin was otherwise occupied with the automatic faucet in the men’s room, but as soon as he was over his fascination with it I got Alex so his little brother could have some time alone with their mother.

Kevin was excited, he had been all morning and he ran from the waiting room into her room. But once he was in there he stopped so fast that his sneakers chirped against the tile floor. It was what I was afraid of. I’m not sure what he expected to see and we tried to prepare him for seeing his mother bruised, in a cast and a leg brace, and how tired she was going to look but it didn’t sink in. He got one look and froze, and then started to cry.

I had a selfish moment of panic because I wasn’t sure of what to do, make him stay and talk to her or pick him up and take him out. Char knew what to do, though. She asked me to lower the railing on the bed and she coaxed him over, and when he managed to make himself take those last few steps to the bed I lifted him up so that he could stretch out next to her.

I know what that cost her in pain. He barely moved but she’s sore as hell and it’s agony for her to move even the right side of her body. I had to clench my teeth to keep from reminding him to be careful, but she cuddled him close for a while. I don’t know what she said to him to calm him down because I waited in the doorway to give them some privacy. But twenty minutes later he was sitting on the edge of the bed and was happy enough, and she had me get Alex and Rachel.

They stayed for another half an hour before I made them clear out. Again, I am the World’s Meanest Dad. They went home with their grandfather, and Char is sleeping now. She was glad to see them but it wiped her out. We’ll see how she feels later and decide whether or not they can come back today or if they’ll wait until tomorrow.

In the last week she’s seen at least five different doctors. The ER doctor, our personal physician, two surgeons, and some random doctor assigned to her case but she’s only been in there twice that we know of. I threw in a sixth today when I met with the PIC of the ICU to discuss her pain management. It was actually anticlimactic. I went in there ready to butt heads but he had already reviewed her chart and spoken with our doctor and the random doctor and agreed that something needed to be done to manage her pain better. He switched her from an IV medication to Percoset and she says she feels more clear headed and instead of her pain being off the chart it’s around 8 on a 1-10 scale.

That was around nine this morning and before lunch they moved her out of ICU to another floor. She’s in a private room so there won’t be any disruptions from a roommate and the kids can all start to visit her. Alex spent an hour with her this afternoon and I felt comfortable enough to leave them alone for most of it. They didn’t need me hovering and to be honest I needed to walk the halls for a little while and it was nice to have a chance to get food that didn’t come out of a vending machine.

Because I have friends who are a bad influence on him, a few weeks ago Alex bought himself a Kindle and he brought it with him today and left it with Char so that she would have something to do. He bought a couple of books for it he thought she would like and she’ll be able to read without having to turn pages. This kid is a heavy reader and for him to give it up means a lot (though he did hint that it might be a good idea if I bought her one of her own, considering all the down time she’s facing in coming months. I feel stupid for not thinking of something like that myself.)

This is where I clear my throat and point out that someone we know is writing a book and she would very much like to read it even if it is still in the rough stages. Just saying.

Tomorrow I’m letting Rachel and Kevin come. I’m not convinced it’s the best idea yet but she really wants to see them and Rachel especially needs to see her mother, as I am apparently not the go-to parent for things a pre-teen girl need. It was quite the shock to find out she’s more comfortable discussing certain things with her older brother. He believes it’s because she doesn’t want to bother me with anything right now but I don’t want to put him in that position with his sister and I don’t want her to feel like she can’t come to me ever.

Kevin is the one I am most uncertain about bringing over, but Brad will be here and if Kevin balks at the last minute he can hang out with his grandpa in the cafeteria. He’s ten but he’s a sensitive ten, so we'll see what happens when he gets here.

Char is starting to ask questions about the accident but there's not much I can tell her. I know I have to deal with the legal side of things soon. And a couple people have asked in email, so I'll answer it. The guy that hit her was drunk but he did not survive. And we'll leave it at that.

She’s out of ICU and in a private room, and her meds have been changed. She already thinks the different pain med is making a difference. More later but I know a few people wanted to know.

You know family dynamics can look odd from the outside yet perfectly ordinary from the inside; I've had to explain my family so many times I can do it from a rote, practiced explanation, but today I tried explaining it to a nurse and mucked it up enough that she either thinks I'm insane or sleep deprived or both. Our oldest is 13.That's easy enough and the nurse met him yesterday. Today she met my grandkids and I could tell by the look I got that she didn't quite get it. I didn't quite explain it either. But they weren't there to see Char so I didn't really have to.

I took custody of my niece when she was 15. There's a lot of unpleasantness behind that but the short of it is that my sister is no longer in her daughter's life, and God only knows where the girl's father is. So my niece is more like my daughter and the relationship was sealed pretty much like that before she graduated from high school. Her daughter doesn't realize I'm not actually her grandfather yet, and her son is too little to know who anyone really is. But the gist of it, my oldest child is 13 but I have a 6 year old grandaughter and a 5 month old grandson.

Erin brought them to the hospital today while she visited Char. She knew they would not be allowed in the room with her but I think her bringing them was intentional. I stayed in the waiting room with them and got to hold the baby while trying to convince him it was not possible to get lunch on the tap from me, and I got read to from an assortment of Dr. Seuss. The distraction was nice and I probably needed it more than I realized.

Erin was the only visitor I allowed in to see Char today, because she just wasn't up to it. Alex (eldest son; not using their names was turning my brain into crap) didn't ask this morning and I overheard him telling Rachel and Kevin that Mom was"exhausted after the operation" and he didn't want to bother her but he promised he would see her tomorrow and if they want to send notes he'll take them. That kid drives me nuts sometimes and after all the crap we've gone through the last month with him it's easy to forget that he is a good kid and he's a very good big brother.

Tomorrow I'll start making a pain out of myself at the hospital because I'm not convinced they're handling her pain levels well enough. I would have done it today but I wasn't exactly sure who I needed to talk to but Mike (Thumper's Spouse Thingy) turned me in the right direction and I have an appointment with the PIC of the ICU tomorrow and hopefully we can figure out what to do for her. Today she was in a lot of pain and spent most of it fighting tears because of it. That just pisses me off because I don't think she needs to suck that much up.

On the bright side, she had a little bit of an appetite today and was willing to try to eat. She hates that she needs help but even though the right side of her body is just bruised it's still sore as shit and hurts to move. I don't want to contemplate just how upset she's going to be when the solid food is actually digested and the bedpan gets dragged out (and yes, I apologize for that, angel, but it amuses me a little because now you know how I felt.)

It amuses me too how someone you've been married to for 14 years can suddenly be so modest. Evidently bed baths are mortifying and husbands are not allowed to be witness to them. Lesson learned.

Today Char was the most awake and alert that she’s been so far, and the swelling was down to a minimum so I didn’t think it would be a problem for our oldest son to visit. I still probably over-warned him about her facial injuries but she was still a little swollen last night and I worried it would upset him. I forgot that because of my age I am now stupid beyond belief, and he informed me that she looks just fine. His biggest concern was about how much the airbag burns bother her.

They spent about half an hour together before she fell back asleep. She managed to carry on a reasonable conversation with him and he didn’t seem bothered by all the stops and starts of it. I’m still not sure if that’s because she’s fatigued or if she’s in more pain than what the drugs they’re giving her can handle. But he was able to go home with his grandfather and let his brother and sister know that I’m not lying. She really is getting better. I’m not sure I’ll let him go back tomorrow because this afternoon she had the rods put into her leg and she’s back to being completely wiped out. I’m not sure if she’ll be up to trying to put on a good face for him. We’ll see.

The surgery went well, but she was still very groggy from it when I left tonight. Yeah, I’ll go home every night now. It’s what she wants. I’m not as freaked out as I was a few days ago, but when I am there I still sit in the corner while she’s asleep to watch her breathe. It occurred to me this evening that I probably do that more often than I realize even when she’s fine and home asleep in our own bed. And when she reads this she’s probably going to find that a little creepy.

Surprise, angel, now you know what I do when I can’t sleep. It’s not what you thought it was, is it?

There’s a long line of people who want to see her so I’m hoping that she’s not as groggy tomorrow and that she’s given enough medication for the pain to be able to start handling people. If she’s still in a lot of pain then I have to start getting more aggressive on her behalf because someone needs to assess her pain levels and do something about it. I have high hopes that won’t be necessary, though.

It feels pretty damned wrong to be happy that someone spent a chunk of the day crying, but I am a little bit happy about that. Char woke up in pain and was aware enough to let me and her nurse know about it, and after some medication she went back to sleep. Her pain meds have been adjusted a little bit so that she's more coherent but it feels like they're walking a tight line because she obviously feels more pain. Today she spoke some, which relived me. In the morning she wanted to know what had happened and was satisfied with being told she was in a car accident but would be ok, and she wanted to know where the kids were. That started the tears but I wasn't sure if she was upset because she's worried about them or because she really wants to see them. She tried to tell me but she couldn't talk and cry at the same time and the crying won out.

Her facial swelling has gone down enough that our oldest can see her tomorrow morning, I think. I still don't want the younger two in here yet. I haven't asked about the rules but I'm going with what the rules were when I was a kid and back then you had to be 13 to visit an ICU. I think they'll accept that.

She slept on and off all day but at least now I can tell when she's awake and when she's not. They propped her bed up for a while to see how she took it, and she let me feed her a little bit from her dinner. Her temper is also in good form because when I asked her to try to eat just a little bit more she told me to f@*k myself, and a little after that she told me to go home.

So, I'm home. I stayed until nine o'clock to make sure she was asleep and had gotten her pain meds, but I came home tonight. I think my youngest was disappointed and worried that Dack and Theresa were going home for good but once he was assured they were staying he seemed happy. I think I'll have my daughter sleeping with me tonight. As a rule we don't allow kids in our bed but I think I have to make an exception this time.

Tomorrow afternoon Char is having surgery to put rods in her leg, but I'm not clear on how many. Her leg is broken in two places. Midway on the femur and on the tibia (?) closer to the ankle. If she's up to it before then I'll let our son in to see her, but he's already been told that I'm the only one who gets to make that call and he could wind up in the waiting room with his grandfather instead. He accepts it because we've already established in the last couple of months that I'm the World's Meanest Dad.

All in all it was a better day even though she spent part of it crying. She snapped at me and later said she loved me, so to me that's a good day.

For Mother's Day this year, Char wanted a tattoo. She dropped hints about it for months and had friends dropping hints; I pretended to ignore it all because I really wanted to surprise her with something unexpected. In the end, I couldn't think of anything that would surprise her and mean a lot, so I headed to the shop and prepaid for a tattoo.

The surprise was for me, though. She knew exactly what she wanted: a tattoo that would symbolize us. She wanted an ankh to represent the eternal, and a heart to represent love. What she ended up with was not exactly an original concept, but as soon as she saw the sketch of it, she knew that was exactly what she wanted on her for the rest of her life. And she wanted me to get one that matched.

I couldn't say no to that. The gift wasn't the paying for the tattoo, it was in honoring that she wanted something to represent us. So we got the same ink, in places where no one else will ever see.

She loves the tattoo. And in my sleep deprived fog at four o'clock this morning it was suddenly imperative that I make sure her new ink had survived the wreck unscathed. She'll be happy to know that other than some bruising around it, it's fine. Explaining to the night nurse why I was suddenly peeking at a certain body area on my wife was so important was a little awkward.

Today she was a little more vocal. She's still out of it and not speaking, but she's making noise. I hope it's not from the pain, but I still took it as a good sign.

I did go home for a little while today. I was torn about it, but Brad promised he would stay with her until I got back. And it has been pointed out to me multiple times that if I failed to go home and explain to the kids what was happening with their mother I might make them think she was surely going to die, and if that happened she would kick my ass the first chance she got.

They're all holding it together pretty well, thanks to Dack, Theresa, and Brad. No thanks to me as I am painfully aware. I felt all right about coming back to the hospital tonight because Dack and Theresa were taking them to see fireworks and the kids were excited about it. They all want to come see their mother, but I don't think it's a good idea. Once she's awake and can talk to them and looks more like herself I'll bring them over. I think right now it would just upset them more than they already are. They say they understand, but I'm not sure they really do. I know they don't like it.

Neither do I.

Yesterday was my wife's 39th birthday. Three days ago she was in a horrific car accident. As she drove through an intersection she was broadsided by a red light runner doing about 80 mph in a 35 mph zone. The only thing that probably saved her life was that she was hit on the passenger side. If she'd been hit driver's side, I can't even go there.

Her left leg is broken in two places, her arm is broken at the wrist, a rib is cracked, several fingers are broken, as well as her nose. Last night they removed her spleen and sometime this weekend they will probably operate on her leg. The miracle in all this is that she didn't wind up with a head injury. Her car had side impact air bags that probably saved her brain from being scrambled.

She's in ICU and will probably be here for a while. The first night she was listed as critical, but now the nurses are telling me she's stable. She'd be in a lot pain pain but they're keeping her heavily medicated, so I'm not 100% sure how much she's aware of, but when I talk to her and hold her right hand, she squeezes it if I ask her to. I'm told that's good. If she hears me and is aware enough to respond, then she's hanging in there no matter how much pain is seeping past the drugs.

Her father has spent most of his time here at the hospital with me, but he's gone home to spend the night with my kids. I know I have to go home to see them soon, but I can't bring myself to leave the hospital. Because what if? Yet I know my kids need to see me. They need to ask the questions they'll only ask me and they need to be able to break down with their father and not just Dack and Theresa, or even their grandfather.

A few days ago I did one of those Facebook memes and one of the question was "When was the last time you cried?" My answer was last year, when my father died. But right now I'm fighting them all the time, and it's so obvious that when I talked to my oldest son on the phone earlier he came right out and told me it was all right to cry.

He says he's keeping his brother and sister occupied and has told them their Mom will be all right but that it might take a while. That isn't his job, it's mine. Yet I still can't peel myself up to go home, because if I do and something happens to her, I don't think I could take it. They can't come here to see her yet. Eldest Son could take the sight of her like this but the younger two can't. She doesn't look like Mom and won't for a while.

When Eldest Son was just a baby, I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Toxic Shock. I don't know how she managed it but when I was awake she was there. She says she went home, but every memory I have is of her by my bed. When I couldn't eat, she fed me. When the skin was falling off the bottoms of my feet and I needed distraction from the pain she spent hours rubbing my back and my chest. She read to me until she was hoarse, and when I needed social contact she helped me use my laptop to connect with online friends and she typed for me.

She has been there in every one of my darkest moments guiding me through them, and she's the reason for every one of my brightest moments. If I leave here now it feels like betrayal. If I don't go home and be with our kids, it feels like betrayal.

All of that sounds selfish. But it's after midnight and I've been up for two days and since we just started this blog few people are ever going to see it, so I'm going to be selfish.

Someday she'll sift through the archives and see this. And when you do, Char, please don't be angry that I didn't do what I know you would want me to do. I know you would want me to head home and comfort the kids, but right now all I can do is sit here and watch you breathe, because every breath you take means that you'll probably take one more, and if I see the next breath then I can go on for another one, too. It doesn't have to make any sense. I'm sitting in the corner watching you sleep, and the only thing holding me together is watching you breathe.