Friday, June 3, 2011

You Say It's Your Birthday

     My awesome husband turns thirty-eight today and as a birthday surprise, he got a burst blood vessel in his eye! Happy birthday! Ugh. It's the same damn eye that he squished, too, so that's slightly worrisome. Also, he just had yet another appointment with the eye doctor to (supposedly) wrap up the squishing drama, but it seems that that's not completely over. The hole in his eye has sealed itself up and it's no longer leaking juice, but the pressure is still really low. The doctor wasn't entirely sure why and said that my husband needs to go back to be seen in six weeks, sooner if he starts feeling that pain in his eye again. If the pain comes back, that means the hole is back and that means a laser to close it up. For reals?

     Can I be completely honest here and confess that neither I nor my husband really care all that much right now about the latest burst thing on his body? Granted, it's just a burst blood vessel in his eye, which for us is so beyond old hat it's not even funny, but still. I feel like one or both of us should give a little bit of a damn. And yet...we don't. Most of that indifference is due to the fact that we know it's nothing serious and will go away in a couple of days. The rest of that indifference is probably because we're just tired of being worried about something of his that's once again broken.

     It's kind of like what I was saying before about knowing when to go to the hospital and when to ride it out. Eyeball is causing him large amounts of pain and he's seeing spots? Most definitely time to see the doctor. Yet another red blotch due to a burst blood vessel? That gets greeted with a resounding "Meh". Yeah, we'll watch it, but really, the fact that his eye still has low pressure in it is far more worrisome. That's what we'll keep an eye on (no pun intended), just in case it gets worse. Truly, though, something like this is just par for the course now and I wonder if that sentiment is going to get progressively worse.

      I think it likely will and I'm totally okay with that. I know I'll never become completely indifferent to the Marfan's Syndrome and everything that goes with it, but I know that as time goes on, I'll worry less about my husband carrying too much weight up a flight of stairs or trying to move furniture that I deem too heavy. I hope that I'll eventually stop freaking out if I can't hear his heart ticking while he sleeps because he's laying at an odd angle. (Sounds strange, I know, but it happens. Sometimes, if the comforter is on top of him just right, it muffles the sound of his titanium valve and I panic, thinking that his heart has stopped.)

     You know, as I sit here thinking about it, I have to admit that I'm actually looking forward to the day when I can learn to relax about more things pertaining to his health. My husband is already in that frame of mind, having lived with this disorder far longer than I have and he's actually really good about dealing with my freak-outs. He's quietly patient and I know that every time I don't make a big damn deal out of something, he silently cheers. I'm going to get better with time, I know and that'll make it a little easier on both of us when something big actually does come up. Now, though, I think it best if I just enjoy his birthday with him and anticipate the many more to come.

No comments: