Yesterday afternoon when most people were winding down from their Labor day celebrations, Chris and I were headed to the ER. For once in a very long while, I wasn't the patient. My poor sweet husband was clutching a bloody towel to his foot while I raced to the hospital.
Chris slipped in the shower and caught his toe on the lip of the shower door, tearing the nail of his big toe partially off. When I saw the nail sitting sideways on his toe, held in place by the cuticle, I nearly vomited. I can have a coherent conversation with you while someone draws spinal fluid from my back. I can even tell jokes while a PA breaks fragments of bone from my hip for biopsies, but I absolutely cannot imagine the pain associated with tearing off a toe nail. The very idea of it makes me cringe.
Of course the ER was packed to the gills thanks to the holiday and the fact that most doctor's offices were closed. Chris was uncomfortable with me sitting in the waiting room with so many sick people, so he sent me home while he waited to be seen. Since it looked like he was going to be there until the end of time, I stopped off at an after-hours clinic to see if they were open and if they had the facilities to treat Chris's injury. Yes and yes.
Chris was seen at the clinic about two hours after we got there and by 8:45 I was dropping his prescriptions off to be filled. I had to drive him into work this morning and pick him up shortly before noon when he started getting sick from the pain killers.
He keeps marvelling at the novelty of being looked after by me after having had to look after me for the last three years. It's such a normal, mundane thing, that I'm thrilled to be able to do it.