One week ago today my husband had a Clavicle Excision. Bilaterally. In laymans terms it means the surgeon removed a centimeter (more or less) of bone from the top of his shoulder. Both shoulders.
In wifespeak, he is broken. Broken because there is not much the man can do. Can't drive. Can't work. Can't carry in the groceries. Can barely shower and dress himself without help. Thankfully he found a way to care for his bathroom hygiene. There are just some things a wife should not have to do for her husband. At least not in your 30s. Wiping his bum is one of many I can think of.
Several days before the surgery my friend Sara informs me that she will be picking my children up from school on surgery day and will be keeping them overnight. She would take Sydney to Violin class on Friday and then on to her basketball game Saturday.
The day before surgery another friend tells me she will be delivering a post surgical dinner. True to her word she came bearing the best chicken salad I have ever had complete with bread and homemade Snicker doodles for dessert.
Over the past week three more of my friends have delivered dinners. Lasagna, salad, bread and cake on Monday from Ruth Ann. Homemade pizzas from Polly on Wednesday and beef stroganoff, peas and a scrumptious apple bar dessert from Jackie tonight.
Polly informs me that they planned this meals on wheels schedule and purposely did not tell me in advance knowing I would baulk and refuse their niceties. She was right. Accepting help from others does not come easy for me. It makes me uncomfortable but I must say that being forced to accept the generosity of such great friends has warmed my heart and makes me love this small town living even more than I did before.
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