The Devil Gets His Due

This will be our 23rd year together.  I don't think we've ever gone to bed angry with each other.  And rarely had one of us gone to bed without the other.  I've always loved her touch, well maybe not the cold feet, but there has never been a more comforting experience on God's green earth than to share a bed with this woman. 

That has changed somewhat over the last few years.  She sleeps much more now.  So it’s early to bed for her with me snuggling in next to her a little later.  And it’s up early for me as she sleeps in much later than she use to.

Then there are the movements.  Some nights calm and restful, others that wore us both out waiting for the meds to kick in - that is if they took hold at all.  It was hard to tell at times if it was the pills or sheer exhaustion.

Movement leads to falls.  I've awaken in the middle of the night to find her on the floor.  Most of the time harmlessly lying on the carpet cocooned in her blankets.  Every now and then a bump on the head or a bruise on the back.  We have pillows draped across the light stands just in case.

I leave for work early.  While I'm gone, she sleeps as my mother listens after her.   A little later in the morning our caregiver arrives to tend to her needs.

She had rolled out of bed a couple times in the last few months.  Mom has trouble getting her up.  And the constant listening for the 'bump' was weighing heavy. 

Its not denial, you know.  Okay, I'm denying its denial.  Dammit, every set back is a concession that the Devil is winning.  The Devil will win, we both know that.  But he's going to know he was in one hell of a fight.

We got a railed hospital bed.  Set it up in the living room.  So then when I left for work in the morning, I'd tuck her in there, pull up the rails and leave knowing there would be no more falls.  It took one heck of a load off of mother.

Except weekends.  On Saturday and Sunday she would stay in our big old comfortable, familiar bed.  Our bed, our bedroom.  Me and her together.  I'm still an early bird on weekends.  So I'd get up, putz around the house; check in on her from time to time.  Make sure she was snug as a bug.

I had to be out of town a few days last week for work.  I don't normally travel, but a couple times a year we gather for meetings.  I left out Monday morning and drove home later Thursday evening.  Of course, we kept her in the hospital bed in the living room the whole time.  Mother and the caregiver did fine and there were no worries while I was gone.

Well, Mr. Trouble never hangs around when I'm in town.  It was good to be home, and we picked our routine back up Saturday morning.  I had gotten up and fiddled around the house some, checking on her now and then.  I had just been in there, tucking the covers over her legs and walked in to my little home office when I heard the 'bump'.  I scooted back into the bedroom hoping the noise was something else.  But there she was, lying on the floor next to the lamp table.  Her head was bleeding. 

It wasn't bad.  A damp cloth cleaned the blood out of her hair and it didn't bleed much.  A small gash in her scalp.  Got her into her wheel chair and up to the kitchen table.  She was fine.  I was not.  All week with mother and the caregiver, doing all the right things went without a hitch.  I come home and selfishly try to cling to some modicum of normalcy and she gets hurt.  And it could have been much worse.

We've essentially moved out of our bedroom.  She will spend her nights (and days) in the hospital bed and I will sleep in the smaller bedroom with a line of sight to her.  It’s the right thing to do.

So Devil, you bastard, you've won again.  But we won't go down without a fight, you miserable S.O.B.  When that time comes, and you slink away with that evil grin of yours, you will remember this battle.  Hell yes, you will remember this battle.  Whatever is in store for us, bring it.  Bring us your weak shit.  Damn.