One Step at a Time

Feeling misplaced and anxious. Nick's in surgery in Albuquerque and I'm in Durango and even though I'd be sitting in a waiting room as helpless - and unhelpful - as I am here, it just doesn't feel right. You know, like skiing with a bunch of broken bones.

Which reminds me (unintended segue, I swear), when we went to see the hand doc, he x-rayed Nick's hand and saw that everything is healing well, said the pins will come out in another week (from now) and that he should start moving it a little more, which of course Nick took to mean he should start driving his manual transmission serious-work-out-to-maneuver Land Rover. Anyway, the doc said the important thing now is to get back range of motion, because "at this point the progress in healing won't go backwards."

"Unless he rebreaks it, of course," I suggested.

And he goes, "Ha! Yeah, well no doing tricks down the halfpipe then."

"Funny you should mention that, Doc."

"I don't snowboard; I ski." Guess who.

"Ha! Yeah." The hand surgeon totally thought Nick was joking.

We left the office giggling, but really, it's NOT funny. His hand is looking much more human in shape and colour, even if the yellow-knobbed pins jutting out of his knuckle do get some stares. They are a little gross-looking, it's got to be said.

The next big thing is taking care of his teeth. Right before heading to France we phoned our dentist Courtney, who had the day off and was heading to Purgatory (our ski resort) when we called to find out if he had any ideas about stemming the pain. He met us at the office in his ski pants and fleece and took x-rays to see what the extent of the damage is. We could see the two clear breaks in his jaw, and the jagged edges of some teeth - so sharp they constantly cut his tongue - but it looked like no root damage. This is good news because the bad news is teeth are not covered by insurance.

The other good news is we're now one week away from the six-week mark where he'll be able to open his jaw wide enough to have his teeth taken care of. It's something he's awaiting with impatience. When he called Courtney's office to make the appointment, he was told the next available slot was I don't know when, but in a long time. Nick spoke to Courtney, who is working on squeezing in an appointment for near the six-week mark. Thank you, Courtney!! His teeth have made eating a far bigger pain than the broken jaw.


It's 6:30pm. C'mon Nick... recover already and call me... chop chop


So this is what you do while your Dad's in surgery and you're 8 and 9 yrs old:



You build a fort...



... or you Rollerblade.
(Perhaps I could learn something from these two.)

It's now 9pm, the girls are tucked in bed with full tummies and I've spoken to Nick. I couldn't wait and called his room. He sounded awful, but who doesn't after general anesthesia, right? (Doesn't mean I didn't cry after hanging up! All the wound-up nerves letting go, I guess.) I just needed to hear his voice and know he woke up from the operation; I got spoiled with the hospital in Idaho Falls calling me every step of the way.

**SIGH**

Over and out.