Last week Carol drove for the first time since the brain operation.
Had to register her car and drop it off for inspection.
I followed in my car. I literally edged towards the side of the road a couple of times because I was watching her car like a hawk instead of focusing on my own driving.
As if I was fucking Superman. Like if her car suddenly swerved I would be able to fly out the driver's side window of my own car and rescue her, and make it back to my car before it rolled off the road.
I was shitting bricks.
I am shitting bricks for next week too. Emotional bricks.
We have yet another follow up appointment at Dartmouth-Hitchcock this Friday, where we expect the Doc to give Carol a thumbs up for going back to work, part time.
She can handle it. I think she is ready. Except we both thought her speech would be back to normal by then.
It is not. It is not even close.
It breaks my heart that she will have to deal with that. And although she is not as emotional as I am, I have to believe it will bother her.
She has to keep on dealing with hard things. She doesn't deserve this.
When we talk at home, it breaks my heart every time. I know how frustrated she is about the lack of progress. I hate to see her this way, I hate to watch her have to deal with it.
Her first day back will be just one more day in this process when I will think about her obsessively. Worry about her.
I want my wife back.
I want her to be happy.
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