In today’s episode of what not to do when your husband is hospitalized, and you’re not thinking clearly. . .
I finally found a connected couple hours yesterday while my husband was in therapy, and took my Chromebook to the cafeteria. I wanted to email the group of SLP colleagues I support, to provide a quick update and say goodbye, since my “summer vacation” began early. I genuinely like and appreciate my colleagues, and want them to know that.
I responded to another couple work messages, and it never even hit me that I’m on leave, and should not even get close to official business. I’ve advised my coworkers about this in the past during their leaves, but it didn’t click for me as it relates to myself. Being on a leave means you don’t officially exist there for the time being. I mean, I’m sure they miss my smiling face, biting sarcasm, and rapier wit, but not in any official capacity. Rookie mistake. Geez! I can’t even not work right these days.
In Rehab news, my husband is a damn rock star. He gave it probably 4583838 times too much effort in his therapies yesterday, and is paying the price today. You know how like after you play tennis or do yoga after a hiatus, and everything about your body screams the next day ? That.
He has “graduated” up to a Level 2 dysphagia diet, so he can add a bit of texture to the purees. But only a bit. Small steps here in the big city.
I’m probably screwing up my children in ways that will cost them big in therapy when they hit adulthood. I talk to myself a lot as I try to remember why I walked into a room, or remind myself to call/email/text whoever for whatever reason, and I completely flipped my lid when I couldn’t figure out Grubhub’s website last night (it was late and the restaurant had closed-again, rookie mistake). But my boys have acknowledged that I’m doing the best I can. I am trying anyway. And they ate, no one starves to death on my watch, yo. And for that I have to thank a cast of hundreds feeding us, delivering meals and restaurant gift cards. Astonishing what your friends and honestly, what strangers too will do. We are immensely humbled.
So I’ll leave you with this. In my email message to my coworkers, the ones I’m not supposed to contact on my work account? I suggested this. I am no one to be giving anyone any advice, but I think this advice is OK to disseminate to the masses:
If you’re not in the habit of saying “I love you” to the people you love when you part ways for the day, give it a thought. It’s something Tom and I always do (super cheesy, sure), but I knew that if things had gone worse, the last thing I’d have said to him was that I loved him.