Today I went out to lunch with my parents because they love to eat and they love to torment me about not being able to eat. I ordered a caprese sandwich, fries, and slaw. Fuck me. Within an hour, it felt like there was a belt sander running through my stomach and within three hours, I was in the bathroom. Tomatoes, not good. Ciabatta bread, not good (I haven’t had gluten in over a month until today), cabbage….thhhhhhpt. You know what I mean. Fart scented vegetables make farted scented people. I’ve been very cautious about avoiding things that I know trigger symptoms or make me sick, which is why I never eat out. I needed out of the house so badly, I decided to do my best eating out on the economy, which admittedly wasn’t all that great.
I was terrified that this little lunch date was going to fuck with getting myself packed and to the hotel tomorrow afternoon for MC’s surgery, which was scheduled for Wednesday, but he called me while my parents were in the grocery store (they bought me a pint of ice cream…the demons!) to let me know that the surgeon had postponed his surgery date by a week. My feelings on this are mixed. The longer he has to wait, the more anxious he’ll be. Also, the longer he has to wait, the longer I have to deal with bitchface. FIL is heading back to the midwest EARLY in the AM to take care of work and farm stuff, and he’s leaving psycho with us. “Sorry about your luck!”, he told me. Yeah…
On the plus side, there are more hotel rooms available next week, so I’ll be able to have my own room for a few nights until his grandparents drive in. I’ll be sharing it with them and that’s just fine. They’re delightful people. I’m also not ready to see MC is his post-operative state. I don’t know that I ever will be. This morning we went to the bank and all I could think about was how difficult it’s going to be for me to see him suffer. I don’t want him to have to go through that. It’s my opinion that it’s much easier to be the person going through all of the shit than it is to watch someone I love struggling. If I had the ability to take all of his pain away and suffer in his place, I would. I hate being sick, and I hate pain, but I know how to handle it. This is going to be extremely hard for him.
Yes, I may have to spend an extra week with Harpy, but I’ll also get to spend an extra week with my almost “normal” husband. Normal in the physical sense, anyhow. Mentally, he might be just as wacky as me and this is why I love him.