Break A Leg

Or don’t.

Three months have passed since the bottom of her femur drove through and shattered her tibial plateau.

Without insurance surgery that’s needed is impossible, America the Beautiful, America the Business.

Three months of wheelchair, three months of hopping on one leg, three months of no going up stairs, don’t bump into that foot, I can’t reach it, can you get it, we’re not coming.

And after the surgery that my (hopefully) new job’s insurance will cover, it will be close to a year of recovery.

And as the days go by and I keep saying three months but in a few days it’s four months, I’ve come to the realization that the hardest part of this is not the wheelchair, not the sponge bathing

(actually I kind of like that part)

It’s not the difficulty going anywhere, push the chair while pulling the grocery cart, kids hold the handles, stay with your mom I’ll bring the car up,

“he runs upstairs because he knows I can’t get after him”

It’s not the drunken, stress-fights over nothing, or the emotional fallout last month from too many damned death-anniversaries in too short a time,

The hardest part is that it’s really difficult to cuddle someone that has a broken leg.

Here’s where everyone rolls their eyes and makes derisive sounds.

But I mean it.

Abuse survivor. PTSD. Depression. Grief. Chronic pain. Paranoia. Loneliness that never leaves.

All of these conditions become just minor issues because I have my one, my trusted, my love, my loved, my lover, my home, my happiness, my hurricane, my muse, my poet, my soulmate, my best friend, my princess, my girl, she sleeps next to me and sometimes I dream I’m kissing her and I wake up kissing her,

Sometimes I dream I’m grinding against her and I wake up grinding against her,

Do you have any fucking idea how wonderful that feeling is?

We chase our dreams, goals, aspirations,

But these dreams are the ones sad songs are written about. The embrace of a lover and waking alone. The kiss that lands on an unused pillow.

My dreams of my lover are true. They’re real.

I’m not bragging, I know a lot of folks out there will never have what I have,

life is hard; love harder.

But four months and I wake up and she’s…

Over there.

Four months and she can’t stand up and wrap her arms around my neck.

Four months and we can’t get our

“Vigorous exercise”

Because we have to be gentle.

Four months and it’s been hard to cuddle. It’s been hard to sleep close.

It’s been hard.

Four months and at least another year, if I get this new job with the great insurance.

Four months and I can deal with the new reality, she can deal with the consequences of a bad decision, we can deal with the way that life keeps setting up obstacles.

We do this.



I need her closer.

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