Because it really is personal…

So, I’m sitting in Terry’s office right now, not the home office, the one at work. He had to come in today, as there’s just too much going on, too much political and backstabbishness happening and he Had To Be Here. I get that. His is the type of job that you simply can’t let someone else do, and the longer you stay away the worse it is to return to. So I am sitting in his nicely air conditioned office whilst he paces the mill floor, toting rolls of cloth and being the Big Man. I told the Mouth of the South the story of him yanking his arm back into place, so it will get spread around about how big his balls are. That is the kind of thing that goes on here. Chest thumping and who’s the silverback and all that. Men. At least they’re predictable.

the hope is he can be here for just a couple of hours, then conduct the rest of his business via email and phone from home. Yeah right. The doctor told him to stay away from work for a week. instead, I changed his dressing and brought him in today, 3 days later. His wounds look clean, 2 8-inch long cuts on his arm where they put the plates in, no smelliness or anything. Instead of a cast, he has a molded plaster splint that can be removed to clean and air his arm, all held in place with an ace bandage. Tis a good thing, in the South Georgia humidity, to be able to air his arm from time to time, lest he grow mold and get all itchy.

As for me, I see the whole event as an opportunity for reciprocity. This morning he was apologizing for me having to help him get dressed, and I reminded him of 6 weeks of him helping me get up in the night to use the bathroom, of him emptying the chamber pot and putting up with temper tantrums. A little bit of pulling up the pants is No Big Deal. I truly don’t mind a bit. He expressed some frustration here at work when he realized it took 2 hands to start his computer, and I laughed at him. I can’t help it, it was kind of funny.

I’ve had to revamp the menu a bit, to feature foods than can be eaten one-handed. Hotdogs yes, hamburgers no. Pizza yes, lasagna no. Last night I grilled a london broil, cut it up on salad greens and he could balance the bowl on his pillow and eat that way. (the dinner table is still piled up with the detritus of 2 weeks travel. I’ve got to get it cleaned off so we can eat in a civilised manner again). Tonight I’ll grill chicken and onions, and make a chunky tomato salad with feta cheese, all bite sized things so he doesn’t have to suffer the humiliation of asking to have his food cut up.

Oh well, life goes on, we suffer indignations and humiliations when they happen, and be grateful there’s someone to take of us.