Coming Home.

On January 20th of this year, I had surgery to clean scar tissue, bones chips, jagged edges, and other junk out of my right ankle. The ankle joint is now fused, in an attempt at long-term pain control. The hope/ plan is to get me body moving and my health back.

I came home from the hospital the following day. Jay, my 2-year-old, was legitimately disturbed. What was the large mass on my leg? What were those extra legs? WHAT happened to my dad? I haven't seen you in 2 days, and now THIS? He said "Nooooooo?!?!" and backed away.

I knelt some distance away. I showed him the crutches, and said, "Daddy needs these to help him walk for a little while. It's okay." I set the crutches aside to de-emphasize them. I pulled my leg up and showed him the cast. I knocked on it.

"See? Daddy has a shell on his leg! It's okay. Do you want to touch it?"

"Nooooooooo....!?!?!". Still pretty uncertain, pretty weirded out. I tucked the cast behind me, and smiled at him. I lifted my arms just slightly.

"Huggy?"

It had to be on his terms.

He shook his head, no.

I smiled and said, "Okay. Whenever you want."

I pulled myself into the rocking chair, and propped my foot up on the cat tree.

Laura distracted him with a sippy cup of milk. It was good to change the subject for a bit. This was kind of intense for him.

A little later he came over. He looked at the cast. He said, "Are you hurt?"

I said that I WAS hurt, but better now. "I'm okay now, honey."

Some of the confusion and fear left his face. Dad seemed okay, and well, if it's just an "owie", well, he knew what to do about that.

He walked around me and stood next to the cast. Leaning over, he gave it a kiss and looked up.

"Better?"

Yes, sweetheart. SO much better.