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.