To arms, two arms!

I've been trying to think of some appropriate way to say "Thanks" to my husband for all the ways he's helped me get through the past five months, but frankly, I never even considered something so simple as tying his shoes. And buttoning his cuffs. And spreading butter on his toast. And doing anything else that requires the use of two arms, which he doesn't happen to have right now.

Well, okay, he technically has two arms, but the left arm has gone on strike and the other one has its hands full trying to keep the damaged one from swinging idly in the wind. A week ago, I was nearly incapacitated and he was healthy; now we seem to have switched places. How did this happen?

Yesterday just before the final rehearsal for the annual college-and-community performance of Handel's Messiah, the hubby found and slipped on the only spot of ice in town, smashing his shoulder pretty badly. The show must go on, of course, so he strapped on some ice packs during rehearsal. Later, one of the soloists fetched her mother, a physical therapist, who put the arm through its paces, an exercise that evoked some sharp gasps and groans from a fellow who generally scoffs at pain. He certainly didn't look as if he was in pain during the performance, but afterward he couldn't get his shirt off without help.

He got through the night thanks to ice packs and Vicodin (left over from some kid's wisdom teeth removal, I think), and this morning we set out to find some relief. Our family doctor had an appointment available sometime after Easter, so I took the hubby out to the Doctor-in-a-Box, where we sat amongst sneezing and coughing people and waited while a new employee gained on-the-job-training in Medical Computer Clickery: "Okay, you put his name in here and click on 'established patient,' then you check his address and phone number, then you click on his insurance carrier--oops, wrong box! Let's click on 'cancel' and start over...."

In less time than it would take to memorize the Physician's Desk Reference, Garry was examined and x-rayed and finally released with a list of exercises and a prescription for more Vicodin. He won't be rolling out bread dough this week and he can't drive so he won't be doing any substitute-teaching, so there goes our Christmas budget. But at least he has solved one of my gift-giving problems: every time I kneel down to tie his shoes, I'll be saying "Thanks!"