As I was driving my husband home from the emergency room on Monday, we were discussing the doctor’s instructions for his injured back.
“She said I should lie down as much as possible and avoid lifting,” he explained.
But wait a minute! That’s my job!
“Uh-oh.” We both had a good laugh.
Now I waddle. And he limps. I get his medicine and he gets my vitamins. He brings me glasses of water, and I bring him the heating pad. It’s perfect training for old age.
We’re a funny pair. A perfect match. Until, of course, someone drops something. And then we have to decide who is going to bend down to pick it up.
“We don’t really bend very well,” I tried to explain to the kids.
He is way worse than I am right now. He can barely walk and sitting for long stretches causes him some serious pain. I just need frequent breaks. And I have to avoid too much activity.
I keep having this bad feeling that one of us will drop something really heavy. Hopefully, it won’t land on someone’s foot.
If he falls down, there’s no way he’s going to be able to get up. And not a chance I can lift him.
It makes us laugh to sit around and talk about these possibilities. Now, if only we had a porch swing. We could watch the cars drive by.