My Doctor-Nurse

"J" has been having back troubles since the weekend he graduated from college. It's not surprising, really, considering all the foolishness he got into back in his snake days. Crazy snow-skiing with jumping and crashing; water-skiing with jumping and crashing; knee-boarding with jumping and crashing; mountain biking with jumping and crashing. Let's just say there was a lot of jumping and crashing going on.

"A" discovered a clever rhyme several months ago. "Don't step on a crack or you'll fall and break your back." She chants it whenever we walk anywhere. (Of course, you practically need to levitate to walk on our sidewalks without stepping on a crack.) That, or "Don't step on a line or you'll fall and break your spine." Very catchy.

Two months ago, "J"'s back flared up again. It was terrible. He could be bent over, or he could stand up straight, but moving between the two was both excruciating and nearly impossible. When this happened last year, he followed all the recommendations and went through a full course of physical therapy and dulled the pain with appropriate medications. It finally cleared up (his miracle method is not mine to share, but the bottom line is: he finally relaxed in the proper position long enough that his spine could shift back into proper alignment.) This time I sent him to the doctor much sooner. She agreed that physical therapy had not helped before and sent him in for an MRI.

"J" was feeling significantly better by the time the date for the MRI rolled around. He debated canceling his appointment. I encouraged him to go anyway. I reasoned that even though it was feeling better now, the MRI would show any physical abnormalities that might be present. (Yep. I'm a nurse.) So he went. Drumroll please. . . The MRI showed not one, but TWO ruptured discs and a whole lot of foraminal stenoses. (Basically, everything was squished together and there were parts of bone floating around, so his nerves were getting compressed and bumped and yeah, he had legitimate reasons for being in pain.)

"A" was horrified. "Did I break Daddy's back?!" she wondered. I was confused. Why would she think that? And then it hit me. "Don't step on a crack or you'll fall and break your back."

"No, honey! You didn't do that!" I assured her. Daddy did that--jumping and crashing.

This morning, the girls and I called "J" at work. I was about to say good morning to him, when "E" burst out with, "You have a bwoken back and I will hold yowr bwoken back."

"Aww, thanks!" Daddy was touched. But "E" wasn't done.

"I will take care of yowr bwoken back, wib-out Mommy and Sissy. I will take care of you."

"Sounds like you've got yourself a nurse," I said to "J."

"I am a doctor-nurse," corrected "E". Of course she is. J is in good hands. :-)

You've Got to Start Somewhere

Everyone has different talents. Mine is not organization. But since I'm pretty sure my poor husband wishes it was, I'm going to give it a whirl. I found a fabulous blog this morning, called A Bowl Full of Lemons, and if I had any idea how to link to her site, I would. I think she may be my husband's guardian angel, because her ideas are practical and motivational. So much so, that I am headed off to Wal-Mart for clear bins to organize things in. I understand that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, so I am hopeful that throwing these good intentions out there for the world to see will be enough motivation to make them reality. You've got to start somewhere, right? Here I go!