My wife is in post-op right now following a procedure that took her four smaller toes from her right foot. She was scared to death prior to the operation and expectedly upset that a clot in her leg ended up claiming some of her digits.
She’ll recover, of course, with time, patience, determination, and courage. There will be a period of adjustment and she’ll learn to walk and climb steps again. If her rehab is anything like my recuperation from major knee surgery then I don’t envy her the road ahead, but I’ll walk her down that lane just as she did for me.
I’m just not sure how much more I can take off this. Every little bit of her that is lost in surgery is another little piece of me that is lost in sanity. It’s not her fault and I’d never want her to feel that way, but there is only so much a person can take. If she ever reaches a point where she gives up, I’ll probably lose my damned mind.
Taking care of her doesn’t bother me. I struggle sometimes to find the words of support and encouragement that she needs to hear. I mean, how do you put any kind of positive spin on having toes amputated?
Through all of this I’m staying sober, though it’s getting harder and harder to do. I have fifty-one days dry and I’m sometimes counting hours. My social skills have suffered immeasurably and I’m isolating myself to the smallest circles I can manage.
I’m hurting for her, devastated by her sadness over losing yet another part of her body, and I just don’t have the words to make her feel better. I can’t seem to find any way to make her okay with this because I don’t think there is one except for time.
If she can keep battling through these storms then I can certainly keep my hands out of the liquor cabinet.
Hello, My Name Is Steve 