Pullin' Up My Bootstraps

The past couple days have been wild, and I have been running. Functioning at this level is familiar, but only a memory. The muscle fibers and synapses have fired up automatically (yeah, she's still got it in there somewhere). But running all day has felt like a living memory in live-action surround sound, with subtle changes like the layout of the grocery store being different. I've liked flexing my functional-human-being muscles again, even though I am so totally pooped. 

Heavenly Father has been whispering hints of a new family focus we need to have. Following a church lesson on that very topic on Mother's Day, I knew exactly what He wanted me to do to carry it out. Call me cautious, but I know that anytime I utter a good plan out loud, oppositional forces do their worst to thwart it. (Tip: never say you're going to the temple out loud--just think it and GO!) So with my plan in mind and good forces on my side, I skipped any medicines that would make me tired for the day, got our kids in the car, and ran the two errands required to carry out the plan for the most epic family home evening ever. 

I came home content, wordless, exhausted, and ready to get my cool mom on. But my good intentions must have leaked because oppositional forces came down like a sledgehammer on my husband's face. 

He has been brewing a hurricane in his upper jaw for three months, but it didn't devastatingly hit the shore until a few days ago. The master of all toothaches brought him to his knees, with pain radiating from his eye socket to his chin and back through his neck (likely from the festering of a bad root canal he had gotten in Italy--without anesthetic). My sweetheart apologized for being a baby, but I wouldn't have it. To me, he's trying to be a hero. There is nothing like the bone pain due to building pressure, and I won't have any apologies from him. That man needed reinforcements but couldn't think around the pain.

He saw his cousin, a dentist, who deduced the likely problem and referred him to an endodontist (appointment tomorrow). Meanwhile, my sweetheart started the first prescription medication he's had since grade school: an antibiotic to stop the critters from bursting through his skull. 

My ruddy husband was white and listless with pain, unable to eat or talk much. I got my protective nurse on and updated his dentist, got my persistent wife on and hit the pharmacy, and got my pushy lunch lady on and filled a grocery store basket with soft and cold foods to bring home to my fella. He protested my going out, but my powerful alter ego smacked her hip, snapped her fingers, and threw her dreadlocks over her shoulder. "Don't you worry about a thing, honey. Mama's gon' take GOOD care of you," and left in a whirl of flying braids. 

Adrenaline had shot through my body like fireworks, and set to singe any thoughts of myself. Ain't nobody gonna take care of my husband like I can, Lyme disease or not. 

I stacked groceries on the table so my husband could see his options. I educated him about medication and put hesitations to rest. I brought him ice packs and potato cheese soup. And that night--last night--I slept on the couch an arm's length away so I could keep my eye on him through the night. He fared fairly. 

Today started early with my own morning full of appointments in a town behind the mountain. My husband's mother greeted her boy and took me away; I fretted all the time. But I returned home having finished all but two of my out-of-home treatments for the week. And my mother-in-law saw her boy again, offering soothing words, a mother's touch, and a gentle kiss on his whiskery cheek.  

Busily, I set back to work taking care of my family despite my post treatment fatigue. It's nice to be back in the saddle even if I feel haggard. I'm going to feel "ew" anyway, I've given my utmost in adrenaline, and my family is worth everything I have. 

My to do list tonight includes my home infusion and injections. But for now, the house is quiet. My daughter is at dance, my son is eating at Grandma's, and my husband is quietly sleeping on the couch, where I lie an arm's length away. And I'm content.