I have emptied pee-tainers and picked up more than my fair share of household chores and grocery shopping while my husband recovers from ankle/foot surgery. He’s done this once before. The first foot recovered like a charm or a champ or whatever the fuck you want to call it (he went from flat-footed to arch-footed).
The second foot is having many more issues. He’s heavier now than he was before–approx 300 lbs–and there are complications. More surgeries are apparently called-for.
I am lighter than I’ve ever been. I got weight loss surgery in 2016 and I’m down from 320lbs to 175ish. I’m no prize, not in my twenties anymore. I’ve got loose skin and all that shit, but I’m cuter with my clothes on.
Fortunately, our employer has been willing to work with his restrictions. He’s been working from home for months. I am still pitching in more than my fair share and wondering if this will ever end.
We were wandering a flea market the other day. He pulled out a chair to sit on (that was not intended for customers to sit on) and I realized that… it very well may not. And I’m not sure I’m okay with that.
Through sickness and in health is an easy enough thing to parrot during the exchange of wedding vows, but how much is too much? I’m 34 years old. He’s about to turn 35. I did not… NOT sign up for this, but the thought of living without him is… literally unthinkable.
I dunno. There’s a big enormous ginormous bucket of I don’t fucking know right now.
No kids and there never will be, if it matters.