I got a text – a TEXT – from Simon yesterday saying he was just “popping in” to A&E (that’s the ER, Americans) because he’d hurt his shoulder playing football (that’s soccer). Several hours later, I found out his shoulder was fractured, and he’d have to be in a sling for three weeks.
First of all, I’ve notified him for future reference, that a text message is not an acceptable way to let your wife know you’re going to the Emergency Room.
Second of all, Simon being wounded has hit me in a surprising way. Simon does a lot around the house. A LOT. He does a lot of dishes, a lot of cleaning, a lot of moving heavy things and opening jars and putting things in the attic. He also takes over Adlai duty when he gets home from work and gives me an hour to make dinner and just generally breathe.
But broken-shoulder Simon can’t do those things. He can’t move his left arm. He can’t open the honey, or put Adlai in his highchair.
And I’m left to my own devices.
I’ve been walking around in a daze today, trying to figure out how to do life this way.
But mostly, a little bit in shock that my rock of a husband is not invincible.
Because I’m the one who falls down the stairs (twice in one year) and breaks her ankles. I’m the one whose back gives out and can’t carry the stroller up the stairs.
Simon’s the one who rescues me, time and time again.
Now he’s the one who needs rescuing and, to be honest, I’m afraid I’m just not as good at being a superhero as he is.