There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t check on me after the fire.
Stubborn as I was, I went back to work too soon. He worried about me. He told
me so each day. But, I will never be who I am I didn’t push myself. And I did.
I pushed myself. Too hard some days. I would come home exhausted. Literally
unable to function. All I could do was sleep. But I pressed on. That’s just me.
I told no one of my struggle, not even him. I just did what I had to do. And every
day, I got my three calls and I don’t even know how many texts.
Two weeks after I was released from the hospital, I had no idea
what I was in for on my first follow up appointment. I took no pain killers that morning
(I had decided I couldn’t function while on Percocet, and surely wouldn’t drive
on it). But, he knew when my appointment was, and called and texted me to make
sure I was up on time to make it -- even posted on my Facebook timeline that day; even asked me if I wanted him to take me. Again,
my stubborn self told him, “No.” I could handle it, “I got it,” I said. I was
independent and didn’t need anyone -- at least, according to me.
Boy, was I wrong.
I went to SAMMC at 9 that morning. I was there for three
hours. They scraped out each burn wound on my right arm. They took tweezers and
picked out the dead skin. The pain was so intense that I was sweating and felt
like I was going to pass out. But yet, I powered through. I always did.
When it was over, still not a painkiller in me, I got in my
car and drove to work. Everyone there immediately noticed that I was pale, shaking
and in terrible pain. I was literally about to pass out. But, stubborn as I am,
I wouldn’t admit it. I kept saying, “I just need to sit down.” I drank water,
and knew it was only a short amount of time before I was going to close my eyes and fall. It was two in
the afternoon, at this point. I felt it, I knew I couldn’t handle being at work that day, and I was trying to
figure a way out to go home….without letting anyone know how bad it was; how much pain I was in.
I saw the concern on everyone’s face as they passed by me
that day. They knew I wasn’t okay. And, truth be told, I wasn’t. I was light
headed, I was dizzy, my arm was throbbing -- wrapped from my hand to my
shoulder in ace bandages with gauze and antibiotic treatment and all sorts of
tape underneath. Yet I still refused a painkiller. I insisted that I would be
alright.
He called at 10 am, then again at 11, then again at 12. I
didn’t answer. I didn’t want him to know how much pain I was in. At 2 pm, he
called the office line. I couldn’t avoid him anymore. He already knew. He said, “Go
home. I know you, I know you are being a stubborn asshole, and you need to go
to my house and rest, it's closer. If you need me to come and get you, I will come and get you. I am leaving work now and I will meet you at my house in 30
minutes. Don’t argue with me like you normally do, just go and do it.”
I replied simply, “Okay.”
He said, “Wait. What? Okay? You’re not going to put up a
fight? Now I know it’s bad. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Leave NOW.”
He knew me.
So, I left. I made the 15 minute drive to his house, sweat
dripping out of each of my pores because of the pain. Totally unable to realize
where I was, and lucky to have made the drive at all. I had never experienced
such massive pain in all my life.
When I got there, he was waiting for me. He took me to the
bedroom, and laid my on the bed. He kissed me on the cheek and told me to rest.
Said he was going to go and get us something to eat and that I was not to move
from that spot until he got back. He wanted me to sleep.
So I did. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. He didn’t wake me up
for dinner until 8.
But when he did, he was incredibly sweet. He had gently shut
the door when he left, so I could rest, but when he returned home, he opened it, jumped on the bed,
kissed my cheek and said, “Sexy ladies need to eat. I have Whole Foods pizza
downstairs.”
He grabbed my hand and took me downstairs and watched as I
was only able to eat about half a slice of pizza…the pain still gripping me. He
tried to get me to eat more, he fought with me vehemently to do so, but I
couldn’t. And when he realized how much pain I was still in (because I never complained),
he just smiled at me, took my hand, brought me upstairs and tucked me in. He
never pushed me, even though I needed a good ass kicking at the time, he just
made sure I was okay. He put me to bed at 9pm. He came to bed shortly after,
and when he did, all he did was hold me and kiss my forehead.
And that was our August that year. That was all we did. And
those are still my favorite times.
There are no photos here, because I wouldn’t allow them. He
has some, in his private stash, but those are ours, not yours. At least, not
yet.
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