The Damnitol Cowboy.

Home is definitely sweet. And my bed is at least a little bit better than the cot. As a matter of fact, in the middle of the night the hubby was up. Getting his meds and who knows what. I opened one eye (trying to be tuned in to his every need, though I thought we might get one full night’s sleep once we were home and there were no nurses sneaking in to poke him). “You okay?” “Yep. Just cold. Where’s the blanket?” “I’ll get it.” Then. He says, “Where’s the blanket?” Oops. I had fallen back asleep. So much for MOTY. I’m now in the running for CGOTY.

Bean woke us up around 7 and I fell back asleep twice while she tried to crawl into bed. As soon as she was in she said, “Let’s make a family sandwich!” And proceeded to flail around while the hubby covered his stomach and anticipated the worst. When the ILs came in she said, “Let’s go see what’s going on! Come on guys!” We were less than enthusiastic. But I was awake. So I gave in.

Bean was in a state today. Being the terd-bird that Purse Girl aptly named her. While I brushed my teeth, she came back and proclaimed, “Lucia’s soooo mean. And Pop-pop is mean. And Mimi is really mean. I want Mommy.” Bean. My welcome home mat.

So the day officially started with me getting the syrup. The ILs just can’t figure out our organic products. Being big fans of Mrs. Butterworth’s, they’d looked right past the 100% Pure Maple Syrup. They were making pancakes and Miss-miss was sulking on the couch. Bean had apparently put the past behind her and was now happy as a clam. All I wanted was to reach the Francis! Francis! and get my latte. STAT.

The hubby has decided that he just doesn’t need those pain meds. Even though the damnitol (er, tramadol) was seemingly doing the trick. His vision is blurred (for close up) and it’s freaking him out. It sucks because he can’t read anything. So much for finally finishing The Kite Runner. And he is also all numb in one butt cheek and leg. I keep trying to remind him that a numb bum is oh-so-much-better than a sore ass.

But bye-bye pain meds. He’s doing so well. He’s my hero. But I’m not a big fan of cowboy K-man. He’s all swagger and stubborn shit-kicking. (I guess I should’ve thought of that before suggesting we move to Colorado.) But he acts like he’s on vacation. Getting up, drinking coffee on the porch, walking around to check his garden. Etc. Etc. And when the loose discussion of possibly going to dinner with the Purse Girl crew for little PG’s 10th b-day came up, he was all in. I stared a hole through him. “Seriously? Are you sure you feel up for that?” Cowboy K-man assured me he was. With a tip of his hat and a solid “yes ma’am.”

From that point on, he rested up in anticipation of a real dinner out. It’s only been a week, but you can’t reason with little pooper when he’s got his spurs on.

Purse Girl took the girls on her errands, so I cleaned up, tried to unpack, catch up on email and phone calls, fetch stuff for the hubby, and went on a run (half-hearted as it was). I got my list of do-gooders updated. Came up with a catchy slogan for some custom thank you cards I’m mulling over. Called the oncologist and surgeon to schedule appointments. And the hubby napped and prepped for the big night.

I finally went to shower at 3:45 or so. And came back to find that no one was ready. At all. The old me would’ve lost it on sight. But the new me took a deep breath and said, “Are we ready?” We actually made it all the way to Denver with an only 10 minute delay. Yay us.

The bad part is that the hubby wasn’t up for it after all. So I spent the whole dinner staring at him thinking he might keel over. His mom and Purse Girl were doing the same. And he got pissed. We barely made it through dinner and headed home. But he was feeling like shit on a hot shingle. And we also needed to make a quick stop by Chez Lutheran Med Spa for some heirloom eggs one of the nurses brought in to us and we proceeded to leave in the fridge when we checked out.

By the time we made it home and I got the girls to bed, he was down for the count. On the couch in his PJs. When the cat jumped up onto his belly a few minutes later, that was the final straw. The pain was so bad it made him cry and then none of us could stop. For like ever.

Those little cries I’ve mentioned were nothing. This was the big kahuna. And the crux of it is that he is pissed. He doesn’t want to have cancer. Has been pretending not to. And is really sick of us all looking at him. I tried to explain that, well, it all just sucks. And he does have it. And we can’t do anything but stay strong and accept help. (At least I had his mom as back up which was oh-so-helpful in this most difficult moment.) I think we’re all angry. Still in shock from that diagnosis. Scared shitless of chemo and all that jazz. Just wanting it to all go away. And it won’t. At least for a few more weeks.

People do look at you differently. Wondering what it looks like to have cancer. Are there any visible cracks to watch for. But we are surrounded by some of the most amazing people in the entire universe, so even if they do look at us a little differently, I tried to explain, it’s because of worry, concern and love.

So for tomorrow I am planning to prod him on a little more. Help him get to the place where he can open himself up to all of that outpouring and channel it to GET BETTER DAMN QUICK. And if I have to put on a pair of shit-kickers to get my point across, so be it.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Just the Morning. Lyle. Lie beside me. Whisper to me that you want me. Arms around me...There's nothing here to be afraid of. It's just the morning.