|Matt leaving the hospital.|
I wanted to title this post “Iron Man,” but Matthew isn’t Iron Man. He’s Medical Grade, Stainless Steel Man. During the surgery (see previous post), Matthew had two metal bars and two small plates implanted into his chest. That sounds cool. The reality…not so much.
Here are the recovery highlights.
1. Matthew is five weeks into recovery—which means that in one more week, he’ll be able to bend, twist, lay on his side, use a pillow, and get in and out of bed on his own. Woot!
2. He has discovered that when he breathes (even though it’s painful), his chest expands out to the sides. Before, he was using his stomach muscles to breathe.
3. Matthew can never be a recreational drug user. According to the anesthesiologist, morphine has no effect on him. (Yeah, you take encouragement wherever you can.)
4. I realize that he’s a much better patient than I would ever be. I know I’d be whining and complaining.
5. I've caught him with refrigerator magnets, trying to figure out if they'll stick to his chest.
6. He is not above taking advantage of his situation.
A. This morning, he pointed at the French press. I said, “Pour it yourself.” He said, “It’s more than two pounds.” I poured him a cup—but I’m seriously thinking of weighing the pot.
B. I am not always as quick at doing what he wants when he wants it.
The only chair he’s allowed to sit in is a massive wingback chair, which has to be carried wherever he wants to be. That thing is a beast, so I’m not always eager to move it. The other day, I found Matt in the living room sitting in the wingback, which had been in the dining room.
I said: How did that thing get in the living room?
Matt: I dragged it.
Me (hands on hips, narrowed eyes): Dude, that’s way more than two pounds
Matt (smirking): I dragged it with my foot.
Me: So you balanced your unsteady body on one foot, dragged the chair with the other?
Me: And the possibility of falling during this feat of gymnastics?
Me: To the long list Things-You-Are-Not-Allowed-To-Do add dragging chair with your foot.
Now if I take too long, Matt says, I’m thinking of dragging the chair with my foot.
I respond: If you do, I will pick up a tree and kill you. Because if you do something stupid and those bars pop, you'd rather be dead.