Trever is having knee surgery on Wednesday. And I have a confession to make: I am nervous about him being home for 30 days after it's done. Now, before you think I am a dreadful wife, or that I don't adore my husband, (because I do, honestly!) you should have some idea of what it was like the last two or three times he had surgery.
After his first surgery, Trever came out of the recovery room in excruciating pain, and proceeded to yell at every one in range. Since I was nearby the entire time, I got the brunt of it. Although he profusely apologized afterward (and sometimes even DURING his ranting) I still managed to wonder why my husband was so mean to me when all I wanted to do was help him and take care of him.
After getting him home, he managed to break almost every rule the doctor gave him about recovering. Stay off your foot for 6-8 weeks. Yeah right. By week 5 he was playing kickball with the kids, justifying it because he used his "good" leg to actually *kick* the ball. *Very big sigh* Needless-to-say, he re injured his knee, doing more damage.
After his knee became infected, he had more surgery. (I will insert here that it is very unlikely that anything Trever did actually caused the infection. More likely part of a stitch was left inside and eroded.) This time he came home from surgery and was just generally irritable. They gave him the wrong pain medication (percocet instead of vicodin) and although it relieved pain, it made him evil. Like, really evil.
Got through that surgery and on to the bone grafting and micro fracturing. Same deal here- no weight on the leg (AT ALL) for 6-8 weeks. Wrong meds. (Yes, again.) And this time, I have witnesses to the extent of Trever's demon possession on this drug. My sister stayed for a few days to help out, and hid from his wrath. He yelled at the kids for no apparent reason and was constantly rude and mean to me.
By day 2 of this, I had had enough. I called the doctor's office and told them they needed to get him the right medication, because it was medically irresponsible for them to give him this particular medication when he was clearly having an adverse side effect to it. I explained we had 7 children, and that it really was necessary for my husband to be sane. They agreed, after I resorted to calling patient advocacy, and got us the right prescription. Normal life resumed, sane husband returned, life was good. I marked his prescription for percocet with big, bold letters that said "DEVIL PILLS." Just so he there would be no mistake about taking the right ones.
I explained to Trever that if he does not INSIST something be written in his chart about NEVER EVER again being prescribed that medication, I will simply pack up the kids and go stay with family or friends for a few days, until he is off the meds. It's really THAT bad.
When he went in to his next appointment, the doctor asked how his recovery went, and Trever said very well, except that he could never take percocet again. When asked why, he told the doctor he becomes a "raging butthole" (his words!) and that his wife would divorce him if he ever took it again. (This is not true, of course, but I think it got the point across.) After he stopped laughing, the doctor assured Trever that they would not give him percocet again.
Fast forward to now. Trever has been kind of stressed out with work. His job is insane, and he is basically "on call" around the clock. He sometimes goes a whole weekend without a call (though this is RARE) and other times he gets called because one of his soldiers needs to be picked up from the jail or is stranded and out of gas, or there is some other drama that requires him to deal with it. This makes him a little bit impatient with the kids, and sometimes even with me. He is a good man. We all love him like crazy. But it is sad when he is looking forward to having his knee splayed open in two places just so he can have 30 days off.
I am hoping this will be a good recovery time, that he will rest and RELAX. (Sometimes, relaxation is a relative term. If you think relaxation is synonymous with quiet, then we never relax here. Not for long anyway.) But even the chaotic life of raising, and homeschooling, seven (and soon to be eight!) children, even without long stretches of quiet, there can be peace. It is that peace that Jesus gives, the peace that passes all understanding. I am praying that this peace will be ours, especially Trever's, over the next few weeks. And I'd appreciate your prayers as well. :)