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whumphoarder · 5 years

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Viral Wisdom

Summary: When Peter’s dentist decides the kid’s impacted wisdom teeth need to go, Tony offers to have the surgery done at the compound. Honestly, Peter is looking forward to it. After all, he’s seen the viral videos—he’s pretty sure he knows what to expect.

What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 2700

Genre: Hurt/comfort, whump, minor surgery, fluff

A/N: Thanks to @sallyidss and @xxx-cat-xxx for beta reading!

Link to read on Ao3

“You’ve gotta video it, Mr. Stark,” Peter says between bites of the pizza he’s currently wolfing down as part of what he and Tony have jokingly dubbed ‘The Last Supper’. The kid will be getting all four of his wisdom teeth removed at eight o’clock sharp the next morning, and being a teenage boy with an absurdly fast enhanced metabolism means Peter has decided the twelve-hour mandatory fasting period before surgery will be the worst part of the whole procedure.

Tony raises his eyebrows in mock offense. “Oh I’ve gotta, do I?”

Peter grins. “Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “It’s gonna be awesome. Ned’s cousin got hers out last December, and when she woke up she was so high from the anesthesia that she started accusing the dentist of stealing her teeth and selling them to the tooth fairy on the black market.” He sticks the last bite of his pizza slice in his mouth. “Her mom filmed it and the video went like, viral.”

“You know,” Tony remarks. “Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but I got my wisdom teeth out during my senior year at MIT and I don’t remember anything like this happening. Just a lot of eating applesauce and mashed potatoes while resembling Alvin the Chipmunk.”

“No, no it’s a thing,” Peter insists. “These videos are like, everywhere. I saw this one where this lady woke up and forgot she was married but suddenly noticed her wedding ring and started freaking out, thinking her husband had just proposed. But they had been married already for like, three years.”

Shaking his head, Tony huffs. “You are literally a superhero with a secret identity and you think it’s a good idea to get wildly high on medication and then have me film whatever crap comes out of your mouth so you can post it on, what, Facebook?”

“Ha, Facebook,” Peter snorts as he reaches for another slice. “Good one, Mr. Stark. No one uses Facebook anymore.”

The next morning, Peter’s not looking quite as excited as he was the previous night. He sits beside Tony in a plastic chair just inside the compound’s Medbay, anxiously texting back and forth with Ned as they wait for the SHIELD appointed oral surgeon and his assistant to finish prepping the procedure room.

When Peter’s dentist decided several weeks back that the impacted teeth had to go, Tony and May agreed it would have to be done at the compound. Peter’s enhanced physiology means that the dosage of anesthesia required to put him out could also take down a moderately-sized elephant. HIPAA protection or not, Tony would rather not have any raised eyebrows from standard medical professionals.

“You hanging in there?” Tony asks casually. The kid’s foot hasn’t stopped tapping once since they sat down and he’s wondering if Peter’s beginning to regret telling May he’d be fine doing this solo while she’s at work. “Ready to make, what is it then, Vine history?”

That remark elicits a short laugh from Peter. “Vine’s dead, Mr. Stark,” he informs. “It was the true tragedy of this generation.”

Tony sighs, exasperated. “Is it YouTube then? Reddit?”

Peter just shrugs. “Something like that.” His gaze lowers back to his lap and he fires off another text to Ned.

FRIDAY’s voice comes over the speakers, so sudden that it startles the kid and nearly causes him to drop the phone: “Dr. Jacobson is ready for you now, Peter.”

“Oh. Already? Wow, okay,” Peter babbles. “Not even 8:00 yet, no need to rush...” he complains as he pockets the phone.

Tony checks his watch. “It’s 7:58, kid,” he scoffs, getting to his feet. “Perks of being the only patient in the building.”

After a second’s hesitation, Peter stands as well and Tony frowns at the shakiness he observes. “You good?” he checks, lightly gripping the kid’s elbow just in case he decides to channel his inner Victorian lady. “I know your blood sugar’s gotta be low, but I promise, as soon as this is over, it’s all the ice cream and pudding you want.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll be good,” Peter says half-heartedly.

Tony gives his back a little prod to encourage him toward the door. “C’mon kid. Let’s get a move on. Upward and onward and all that jazz...”

Swallowing hard, Peter begins shuffling forward with Tony guiding him along. “So, I’ve never, um, actually had anesthesia before,” he admits. “And, like, what if something… goes wrong?"

Tony softens, for the first time seeing the actual fear lurking beneath Peter’s façade. “Don’t worry—these guys know what they’re doing,” he assures, giving the kid’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Lips pursed, Peter nods a few times. “Yeah. Yeah of course. Okay. I guess I’ll just, go on back there and, uh...“

“Do you want me to stay until they put you under?” Tony offers.

A look of relief instantly washes over Peter and he nods vigorously before stopping to quickly add in a tone of forced nonchalance, “But like, only if you don’t mind.”

Tony chuckles. “I think I can swing it.”

The IV placement is a little rough. Peter’s never been a fan of needles, but Tony distracts him by telling him to close his eyes and recite the second row of the periodic table. Once the saline is flowing, the assistant places an oxygen cannula under his nose.

Peter glances up at the dentist. “So, have you ever had someone say something, like, really inappropriate when they wake up?” he asks.

Jacobson chuckles drily. “Oh yes. I actually have a very amusing anecdote about that.”

Both Tony and Peter look at him expectantly, but the doctor just continues preparing his instruments.

“So, uh, what happened?” Peter asks finally.

Jacobson’s eyes narrow. “That is confidential information.”

Peter blinks at him. “Oh. Uh, of course.”

While the surgeon moves over to grab something from the counter, the assistant—a woman probably in her early thirties whose name badge reads ‘Megan’—gives a small laugh. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It can’t make you say anything you weren’t already thinking on some level.”

Peter gulps. “Great.” Turning to Tony, he says, “Uh, you know, on second thought, maybe we don’t need this on video…”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Oh no, no take backs. In about an hour, you’ll be trending on Twitter. Or wherever the hell this is going.”

Before Peter can say anything, Megan gives a warning of, “Alright, here we go.” Then she injects the anesthesia into the IV port.

The effect is nearly instantaneous. “Whoa…” Peter mutters, shooting his mentor a nervous look. “Feels… weird.”

“You’re fine, Pete,” Tony promises. “I’ll be waiting right outside until you wake up.”

“Yeah…” he breathes out, eyelids drooping. “And ’s’goin’ on Instagram, Mr. Stark…”

A few moments later, the kid is out.

“Boss, the surgery is complete,” FRIDAY’s voice comes over the speakers in the waiting area. “The extractions went well. Peter has just regained consciousness and has been transferred to the recovery area.”

“Thanks, FRI.” Getting to his feet from the plastic chair, Tony closes out of the Minesweeper app on his phone and opens the camera one instead. “Guess it’s showtime…”

Already filming, Tony pushes open the door and makes his way back to the small room off to the side of the procedure area. Peter is sitting propped up on a cot as Megan drapes a blanket over him. Tightly rolled wads of cotton are sticking out of his mouth and his eyes are droopy and unfocused.

The assistant gives Tony a small smile. “He did great,” she assures in a quiet voice. “We’ll be right in the other room cleaning up if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Tony tells her before turning his attention back to Peter and pulling up one of the stools to sit on. “Hey kid,” he greets. “How’s life with four gaping holes in your face?”

“Uhhh… M’s’r St’rk?” Peter manages to mumble, blinking a few times.

“The one and only,” Tony replies, his camera still trained on the kid. “Any dental conspiracy theories you wanna share with the audience? Declarations of affection you care to make?”

Peter’s face screws up into a weak sort of frown. “Wha…?”

Tony shakes his head slowly, chuckling to himself. “See, what’d I tell you, kid? Anesthesia just isn’t that exciting.”

“Uhhgg…” Peter groans, blinking again. The kid’s expression of utter confusion coupled with his already swelling cheeks is honestly adorable. “I-I don’t… I feel weird, I…”

Smirking, Tony focuses the camera a little closer on Peter’s face, ready to film whatever drug-induced ramblings pour forth from the kid’s lips.

But then all of a sudden, he’s watching tears well up in Peter’s eyes.

Tony’s grin falters. “Pete?”

“Oh god…” Peter draws in a shuddering breath, which comes back out in a choked sob. “I-I didn’... I can’t… I don’ like this...”

All traces of humor immediately dissolve from Tony. “Whoa, hey, you’re alright,” he says. As Peter continues to cry, Tony turns off the camera and shoves the phone back into his jacket pocket. Scooting closer to the bed, he takes the kid’s hand. “You’re fine, you’re okay.”

“I-I don’ feel... I, uh...” Peter chokes out between sobs. A bloody wad of cotton falls out of his mouth, which only causes him to cry harder. “Wh-Why ’m I bleedin’?” he cries.

“You just had a few teeth out, no biggie,” Tony assures. He grabs a fresh cotton roll from the table and sticks it in the kid’s mouth. “You’re fine, bud, I promise.”

Still crying, Peter manages to spit out, “Am I... is this… real?”

Tony’s heart clenches, going back to Titan, back to Peter being trapped for five years in some kind of altered state of consciousness. He’s kicking himself for not having realized sooner that something like this might freak him out.

“Ah, kid…” Tony sighs. “Yes, this is real. You’re real. You’re right here with me,” he promises, rubbing his hand up and down over the kid’s arm.

Suddenly Peter’s breath hitches in his throat. “‘m gonna throw up,” he chokes out.

The warning is immediately followed by an unproductive gag. Tony mutters a curse, jumping up and grabbing a plastic emesis basin from the counter. He barely manages to get it under Peter’s chin before the kid makes good on his threat.

“Hey, hey, easy, easy...” Tony says, switching to hold the bin with one hand and place the other on Peter’s back. He winces in sympathy at the bloody cotton and red-tinged strings of bile Peter is spitting out between sobs; he can only imagine how much that has to hurt. “FRIDAY, can you get the doc back in here?” he asks in a low voice.

Pulling in a shuddering breath, Peter glances up from the basin, eyes wide and fearful. “I th-threw up b-blood,” he whimpers, horrified. “...’m I dyin’?”

Aw fuck. “No, no of course not. It’s just from your mouth,” Tony explains, much more calmly than he feels.

The door reopens and Megan is the first to enter. She gives Peter a sympathetic smile as she steps into the room. The surgeon appears a few steps behind, looking totally unfazed by the teary, vomiting teen in the chair before him.

“Ah,” he says with a nod. His tone is factual, though not unkind. “We have a crier.”

“This just happens sometimes, nothing to worry about,” Megan quickly assures. She takes the bin from Tony and hands him an empty one before carefully wiping the tears and vomit off Peter’s face with a paper towel. “Anesthesia can have all kinds of different effects on people.”

Jacobson hums in agreement as he checks Peter’s mouth to ensure his stitches are still holding before giving him fresh gauze to stem the bleeding. The tears have stopped now and embarrassment seems to be rapidly replacing fear as the kid’s primary emotion. Unsure of what else to do, Tony just continues rubbing Peter’s back.

“Everything looks fine,” Jacobson concludes after a moment of looking him over. “You can take him back upstairs now. He’ll probably feel calmer once he’s in a familiar setting.”

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice. “Sounds good,” he says, grabbing the paper Megan hands him with the discharge instructions as he helps Peter to his feet. “Alright bud,” he says quietly. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

After getting Peter situated on the couch in the common area, Tony heads to the kitchen and returns with a tray of soft food selections to offer the kid.

“What are you feeling?” he asks, pointing to each food in turn. “Yogurt? Ice cream? Applesauce? Pudding?”

Peter blinks twice at him. “...Butterscotch puddin’?” he asks hopefully.

Tony scoffs. “No, because I’m not eighty. I’ve got chocolate or vanilla.”

“Oh.” Peter’s face falls. “Don’ want anythin’ then…”

“Nope, not an option,” Tony declares. “You have to take your super spidey-kid painkillers soon and I don’t want them to make you sick.”

“But I ‘ready got sick…” Peter moans.

“And it wasn’t fun, was it?” Tony reasons. “Which is why we’re trying to avoid that.”

“But ‘m not hungry…” Peter whines, turning his head away from his mentor to face the cushion, causing the ice pack to side down from his cheek. “Jus’ wanna sleep…”

Tony peels the lid off one of the vanilla pudding cups and scoops up a spoonful. “C’mon, Pete.” He says, holding it in front of the kid’s closed mouth. “You’re not gonna make me do the airplane thing, are you? Because I will definitely be filming that.”

“Uhhh… no...” Peter groans, finally taking the spoon from him. “No more internet…”

It’s been several hours now since Tony managed to bully the kid into choking down enough pudding to take his meds before letting him fall asleep. Aside from the obvious swelling, Peter’s looking far better for having had the nap.

“How are you feeling now?” Tony asks, handing Peter a fresh ice pack.

Peter accepts it from him and presses it to his comically large cheek. “Mortified,” he mumbles. “This is so not going on Instagram…”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know, maybe it should. Like a PSA of sorts for all the kids out there looking to be the next viral sensation.”

“Wonderful,” Peter mutters, rolling his eyes.

Tony pats him on the shoulder. “You know, while you were out, I was looking up some of those videos you mentioned. I see the attraction. Did you watch the one where the black med student called pickled eggs a ‘hood snack’?”

Peter nods.

“Or the red-haired teenager who woke up thinking he was a gangster in Dubai?” Tony goes on.

“Classic,” Peter mutters.

“Or the girl who wanted to go swimming in the painting on the office wall so she could see the fishes?”

Peter waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah…”

“I’m telling you kid, I think there’s a market here…”

It’s two days later that Tony finally breaks down and shows the kid the video Rhodey took of him back in ‘87, burned directly off the VHS into FRIDAY’s archives:

A teenage Tony Stark sits on the floor of his dorm room, slumped against a twin-sized mattress. His cheeks are swollen to twice their usual size and drool is running down his chin onto the graph paper notebook he’s scribbling feverishly into.

“Tony, you gotta eat something so you can take your meds, dude,” Rhodey’s voice comes over the recording from off-screen.

“Go ‘way…” Tony groans, waving him off irritably. “‘m busy solvin’ th’… prob’em…”

Rhodey breathes out a heavy sigh. “Okay, for the last time, you can’t ‘solve’ the second law of thermodynamics.” He pauses for a beat. “Especially with a purple crayon.”

Tony looks up at him, eyes unfocused, and gives an almost evil grin. “Maybe you can’t but… I’m… ‘m’ really smart…” He blinks twice, then giggles. “m’ Tony Fuckin’ Stark…”

“Yeah, yeah, and Tony Fucking Stark needs to take his meds...” Rhodey mutters. “So what’s it gonna be, dude? Yogurt or applesauce?”

Tony’s face screws up in apparent thought before he mumbles, “A cheese’urger,” he decides. “Then I solve… gravity.”

Fic Masterlist

For more soft Irondad fics, try:

Dad Level: 3000

You Broke Tony

Sweet Potatoes & Stitches

#Irondad and Spiderson #spiderman fics #peter parker whump #sick peter parker #emotional hurt/comfort #wisdom teeth #minor surgery #irondad fic #my fic

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adventuresinmomming · 6 years

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The moment that changed everything

I can’t breath. Where am I? I can’t breath. What is going on? Am I drowning? Maybe I’m suffocating? I can’t breath. Close eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Open eyes.

I’m in the doctor’s office. Again. This time for what we hope will be the last time we see the surgeon about my husband’s knee. He’s sustained a major injury to it and already had surgery on it. I can’t breath, because I fear he will require another surgery to reduce scar tissue and increase mobility. The reports from his physical therapists haven’t been overly positive. I don’t know if I can do this all over again.

This summer was one of the peaks in my life. We decided to take another step toward our dream lifestyle when my husband left his job to pursue freelance work with me. I was coming off having lots of work, he had a few immediate projects. The increased flexibility allowed us the freedom to visit family, work on ourselves, run every day, get some extra BJJ in and dream about what else we’d like to do, like pull in projects together, travel and write.

It was on this high that my husband participated in his first BJJ competition. I have a picture of him from right before he started to take the mat for his matches. He looks the healthiest and happiest I’ve seen in recent years. Watching the competition was really motivating for me too and made me want to pursue BJJ even more seriously. I was walking around the competition area to keep our youngest entertained when everything changed.

I was keeping an eye on my husband’s match from afar when suddenly I could no longer see him. I looked into the crowd at our friends attending the competition. The look on my husband’s best friend’s face said everything. I ran to the mat and found my husband surrounded by his teammates. When he didn’t stand on his own, I knew just how serious this was going to be. As his teammates looked up the closest hospital we could bring him to in-network, reassured me and splinted his leg, I stood in shock.

My husband’s teammates got him up and to the car, which I’d rushed to pull to the front of the building. I took my youngest back from our friend who watched her during the mad dash, and asked if they could follow us to the hospital. The location of the match must have been a bad cell area, because both of our phones were almost dead. We watched the battery dwindle down and the turn-by-turn directions with it, as we approached the hospital. My husband bit down on his gi in pain. I’d never seen him in so much agony.

The ER visit was uneventful. There were no broken bones, so a better diagnosis would have to wait until we could see an orthopedics specialist, which they recommended we do asap. At some point during our two hour time in the ER, we switched cars with our friends, and they brought our girls back to our home. When we switched cars, our friend had offered to run out and get gas for his since it was on E. Being in a populated area and wanting to get the girls back to somewhere they’d be comfortable, I told him I’d do it. No big deal. Our phones already being dead at this point, we drove around a very populated area for over 15 minutes trying to find a gas station after my husband was released. All I could think about was what the hell I’d do with no phone and an injured husband if we ran out of gas. With relief, we spotted a station and filled the car.

We got home after 9 and thanked our friends profusely. I got the youngest to bed, setup the oldest in a makeshift bed on the couch and ran to get my husband’s pain medications from one of the only pharmacies still open in the area. We had just missed some of the other pharmacies closing. Exhausted, I drove to the pharmacy a little before 10. The whole night was an exercise in Murphy’s Law. At the drug store, I picked up a pizza and ice cream to go along with the pain medications as I waited.

Back home in 30 minutes, my husband and I proceeded to drown our stress with food and updated friends as the clock struck midnight. Little did we know, this was just the beginning. Reality started to sink in. With an instance, one wrong move, our lives had been tipped upside down. My husband’s a great partner. We do almost everything together or to support each other. Everything was now mine to own. Caring for the girls. Maintaining the house. Guiding our oldest through the start of Kindergarten. Keeping income coming into our family. And now, I was also caring for this typically fiercely independent man.

A month passed as we saw the orthopedic specialist, got an MRI and was directed to a specialist who focused on what we learned was my husband’s very complex injury. We made it through this time with the hope that we were moving toward an end solution that would fix his leg. The last specialist told us, a month having now past, we now needed to rush into a surgery to get the best results. This was infuriating and a relief at the same time. On the one hand, we had done nothing to slow the process. It had taken a month, because that’s how long it took our medical system to get us to this point. We had to see a specialist, wait for an MRI opening, wait to see the specialist again, get handed-off to the specialist of the specialist. But, at least we were to the point of moving to recovery.

There was only a week between the first meeting with the right specialist and the scheduled surgery. It was the worst week of my life. The specialist’s nurse mentioned something to us on our way out (after we asked) about where the surgery is performed. We realized it was out-of-network. We wrongly assumed, they would work on our behalf to get the required approvals. As the surgery approached nearer, my husband decided to check on approvals and our costs. We got three different answers. One from the insurance company, one from the specialist’s office and one from the hospital. We spent hours on the phone with each, to finally realize if my husband went through with the surgery, we’d likely be on the hook for the full $250,000 cost of it. Yes, a quarter of a million dollars for one surgery. If we wouldn’t have started asking questions, we would have gone into the surgery unaware and had this bill on our shoulders after. The hospital said it’s happened to many before us. So, now we were faced with the hardest decision we’d made: keep the surgery and be $250,000+ in debt or cancel the surgery and risk my husband ever having proper mobility in his leg again. My husband reached out to some friends, and through their good guidance and graces we found the only other surgeon in our metro area who could do the surgery. By this time it was Friday after 5. For the first time, I truly understood the poor state of our healthcare in the states. It’s not like we were paying a minimal amount for insurance for our family. We were sinking thousands of dollars into it a year, for a plan that was currently failing us. I finally fully realized that this happens to so, so many people every year. Every report, news article, story I’d heard before on our failing system started to ring true.

During this time, we learned my husband had a blood clot in a voicemail left by hospital scheduling staff. Yes, we learned of a potentially ticking time bomb in a voicemail. With no direction on what to do, we worried through the weekend. Come Monday, we canceled the surgery and worked to get an immediate appointment with the surgeon we believed to be in-network and who had the skill needed to do the surgery. We were running out of time.

The surgeon wouldn’t see us until we saw a specialist about the blood clot. If you don’t know, having a blood clot is high risk during surgery. It can travel to the lungs or brain and cause serious complications, even death. We had no time. My husband needed the surgery now.

Our primary care provider was the most responsive, he’d see us that day about the clot. We saw him, he put my husband on the best blood thinner. Somewhere during that day the surgeon also agreed to see us. The next day we were sitting in the surgeon’s office. He let us know in a way nobody else had yet how extremely serious my husband’s injury was. One more tear and my husband would have been looking at a complete knee displacement and a chance of amputation.

Just like we thought, we needed to do the surgery as soon as possible and now we truly understood how bad the injury was. But, there was a hiccup. He wasn’t happy with our primary care giver’s direction. He needed someone to make a call on what to do about the blood clot. To his credit, he fit us into his schedule the following week under the condition we work out the blood clot on our own. He also ensured he communicated with our primary care physician about everything.

We got back on the phones with our primary care doctor who got us a hematologist referral. We anxiously awaited the call to schedule the appointment. When the hematologist office called, they wanted to schedule the appointment for two weeks out. Nobody had explained to the scheduler the urgency we were under. I pushed back hard, and she found us an appointment for late in the week far away. We took it. At this point I’m beyond frustrated with a few things: there seems to be no way to be expedited through our medical system when it’s needed (it requires coordination between separate entities that also don’t seem to always communicate well) and we were completely having to advocate for my husband ourselves. I pondered in disgust and a pit in my stomach about what it must be like for anyone with a more grave illness or complicated treatment plan. I now realized just a little bit what it must like.

It’s now a weekend before the surgery and we drive to the hematologists office. In one of the most humbling experiences of my life, we walk into a Cancer Specialists office. Apparently all oncologists are hematologists. Perspective was immediately served by the universe as I looked into faces of folks who were facing something much harder than us. Who may have been in the state of flux we were in for much longer, who may be currently fighting their insurance company for coverage, who’s family life was most certainly being impacted, who could be facing death. My husband and I sat in silence as we gave thanks for all that we did have, and asked forgiveness for ever feeling hopeless about our situation.

We meet with the hematologist. We were expecting him to have a plan for us. Instead, he had three options for us with a limited amount of information about the risks or insurance coverage of each. We would make the decision that could impact whether or not my husband had complications from the blood clot during surgery on our own right there and then. Each option had risks to my husband’s health and/or risks to potentially leaving us thousands of dollars in debt due to potential lack of gaining prior approvals. We finally pressed him to share what option he would choose if it was his life in question. We made a choice, and with everything out of our control at this point, drove home and waited for the surgery.

My parents came to help with our girls. I drove my husband to the hospital and sat with him as they prepped him for surgery. This was a big deal. This was not a 30-minute arthroscopic surgery. This was a 2-3 hour surgery, where they would open up my husband’s leg and rebuild 3 of of his ligaments. Over four hours into the surgery, I got word that it was complete and my husband had done well. The surgeon came to talk to me personally. A few portions of the surgery proved more difficult than planned, but he was confident in a good result. They were going to admit my husband overnight since it was now late in the day and the surgery had taken a long time.

I went up to see my husband. He was completely out of it. Over the next two hours he came out of the haze and walked straight into complete and utter pain. No nurse came to see us for those two hours. My voice with the CNAs and staff became more and more urgent and stern, less and less patient. By the time his nurse came in, my husband’s pain was so unmanageable they had to start him on three pain medicines over the next hour and a half to get it to where he was no longer screaming aloud. During this time, the nurse informed us we were in charge of his pain management. He could call for more pain medications when needed. This would not work, and we let her know. To her credit, she then took it upon herself to set a schedule of medications and try to preemptively provide them, weaning him off throughout the night as able. I stayed a little bit longer, but had to get back to our girls. Honestly worried about the staff’s responsiveness, I placed his phone in his pocket and told him to text or call if he had any issues. We touched-base around 4 am. It took the staff an hour to get to him to get him more water/ice, but he told me not to come until the morning.

Morning came, and I was back at the hospital. We were both ready to get out of there. We were released mid-morning, and started our current journey to recovery. For weeks my husband’s leg was locked at a 30 degree angle. He was to do nothing on it. Physical therapy was very passive. Any weight bearing would start in 6 weeks. I started the count down.

During this time we continued to have to advocate for my husband’s behalf and stay on top of every detail of his care. Even with this, somewhere during this time, I fell into a rhythm. Things started to seem less overwhelming, a bit less exhausting.

About 6 weeks in we had an appointment with the surgeon, where to our delight he gave us a good report. The knee was stable and now it was “go” time. Time to start weight bearing, time to get more aggressive with therapy. We celebrated.

Progress was slow. Some of my husband’s muscles refused to fire. We became discouraged with continued fair or poor reports for the physical therapists. After some back and forth, my husband was able to get a machine that stimulates his muscles that weren’t firing.

We started to see progress the week we had to visit the surgeon, which is why it felt like I was once again sinking as we waited in the surgeon’s office. He had already mentioned another surgery may be needed to remove scar tissue if not enough progress was shown. Had we made enough progress? I had started to get my partner back, as my husband become more mobile, more engaged in life again. I feared that would be taken away as quickly as it had come back.

Our surgeon’s view on my husband’s progress was better than the physical therapists’. He was even very encouraging, reminding us how far we’d come and how truly good my husband was doing. But. If progress didn’t quicken, he would like to do the arthroscopic surgery and manipulation to break up and remove scar tissue. So, we are back on the books for surgery just prior to year-end. My husband is doing everything he can to take that off the books. He’s gone down to one crutch, they’ve added more exercises to his routine and added more machines to do at home. We are trying to stay hopeful and positive, focusing on our dreams and his recovery. We have some fresh dreams brewing. I’m writing again. We are moving forward, even if it’s more slowly or is more difficult than we’d like.

I didn’t write after my husband’s injury. I didn’t have it in me. Sitting in that doctor’s office again, feeling those feelings of despair again, brought back some inspiration. I wanted to share with others my story, maybe help them through. If you are going through a difficult time in your life, know:

You are strong enough to get through it. What strength you feel you lack, you will build within yourself. Be patient with and kind to yourself. Have faith and confidence in yourself. It may take awhile, it may not be how you want, but you’ll make it through. You’ll learn things about yourself. You’ll learn you can do it.

And, who knows, maybe you’ll even discover a new dream or yourself. I have. More to come on that later.

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