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I had the best of intentions. Really.
Jay has a hard time when he gets back from the Arctic. Things are too noisy, too chaotic. I really wanted to give him breathing space, so he could readjust.
Yesterday was just crazy. I tried to make a nice dinner, but the kids were loud, and I got distracted and dinner was late, and James was in full falling apart teenager mode. And then....
I was walking across the living room floor with a glass of ice wine in my hand. I don't even remember what I was going *for*. My feet got tangled up, either in the edge of the rug, or a toy or *something*. I fell, hard, twisting my knee and ankle. (I also shattered the glass, so I guess I'm lucky I didn't cut my hand to ribbons.) Jay helped me to bed.
It hurts to walk. I can't walk more than a very short way. I can't bend the knee, I can't flex the knee. Getting in and out of the car is excruciating. (It's my left leg, so if I absolutely had to, I *could* drive.) The doctor said, if I'm lucky and didn't do serious damage, it will take about six weeks to heal, with two of those weeks being "acute." (I have to get an MRI later this week.)
Jay has to take up the slack. Make dinner, take care of me, take care of the kids, go to work. Aside from the practical problems (I am going to need to ask friends to take the kids out -- they can't sit all day and watch television. No pool! No beach! No Great America! No library! Someone is going to go postal, other than me, who is a sure bet), there is just the added pressure.
And I feel horribly about it. I know I didn't mean it, I know it was accident, but damnit, I hate feeling like a burden, and that's just what I am right now.
Jay has a hard time when he gets back from the Arctic. Things are too noisy, too chaotic. I really wanted to give him breathing space, so he could readjust.
Yesterday was just crazy. I tried to make a nice dinner, but the kids were loud, and I got distracted and dinner was late, and James was in full falling apart teenager mode. And then....
I was walking across the living room floor with a glass of ice wine in my hand. I don't even remember what I was going *for*. My feet got tangled up, either in the edge of the rug, or a toy or *something*. I fell, hard, twisting my knee and ankle. (I also shattered the glass, so I guess I'm lucky I didn't cut my hand to ribbons.) Jay helped me to bed.
It hurts to walk. I can't walk more than a very short way. I can't bend the knee, I can't flex the knee. Getting in and out of the car is excruciating. (It's my left leg, so if I absolutely had to, I *could* drive.) The doctor said, if I'm lucky and didn't do serious damage, it will take about six weeks to heal, with two of those weeks being "acute." (I have to get an MRI later this week.)
Jay has to take up the slack. Make dinner, take care of me, take care of the kids, go to work. Aside from the practical problems (I am going to need to ask friends to take the kids out -- they can't sit all day and watch television. No pool! No beach! No Great America! No library! Someone is going to go postal, other than me, who is a sure bet), there is just the added pressure.
And I feel horribly about it. I know I didn't mean it, I know it was accident, but damnit, I hate feeling like a burden, and that's just what I am right now.
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{hugs} if wanted.