The Good Corner

This weekend is the first time since I don't even remember, that we had a "normal" good weekend.  To say it was hard adjusting to living essentially alone while supporting your spouse for five years of surgical residency is a complete understatement. It was unlike anything I would ever wish on anyone and is something so traumatic I do believe it will take me years to recover.  Because being the spouse of a resident is not just about learning to do life by yourself but also learning to pick your battles and realizing the only way your spouse is going endure their own hell at the hospital is if they inadvertently transfer that hell to home.  I don't believe its on purpose, I really do think it just happens.  Because it wasn't happening in only my house.  It something no one really gets except other spouses of residents.  Because in addition to essentially being a single mother (or father), you also have the responsibility of taking care of a large child- making sure all their needs are met so that all they have to do at 3:30 am when they wake up to start their day after having gone to bed at 1 is just put their pants on and get in to go mode.  But then what about you?  And its not even that you are a mom with two kids and a husband you see only every now and then- you're a mom with two kids with a sleep deprived husband who wreaks havoc wherever he goes.  You clean up the apartment at night and go to bed only to awaken in the morning to find all your work undone.  Because at 3:30 in the morning when he blindly stumbled through the bathroom, the towels you had fixed fell on the floor, the toilet seat is up and unflushed, the razor and the shaving cream were left on the sink, along with the stubble, as he rushed to run out the door to operate for another 36 hours after having slept for 3.  The kitchen which was spotless before you turned in is in complete disarray- his plate left on the counter, crumbs everywhere, dinner still out on the counter- which is now useless from being left out over night and the microwave still open from the night before.  Because after operating for over 24 hours and having not eaten or gone to the bathroom during that time period either- he's starving and just wants to eat and take a good long pee.  The living room which was also clean has his glass on the floor and the articles strewn on the couch- the ones he attempted to read before he fell asleep, plate on his lap.  The blood and plaster soaked scrubs never made it to his gross laundry bin but are rather disregarded on the floor, which I now must pick up after having stepped on in my bare feet.  I shudder.  So gross.  Oh how I wish scrubs were the same as a police officers' uniform or a fireman's uniform.  But somehow, the thought of my husband being covered in someone else's bodily fluid that I might get on me is just not sexy.  Call me old fashioned.

But as we progress through this year of fellowship, there are seemingly less bloody shoes left on my doorstep.  Less of a trail of disgustingness I can either leave until three months from now when it gets noticed or just pick it up myself and I find myself wondering if we have in fact turned the good corner.  It seems like we finally have.

So on Friday night after GC's pizza party with her girl scout troop, Ben and I headed off to the ice bar downtown- where we spent way too much money on poorly prepared drinks and froze ourselves in -15 degree weather, all in the name of a date night.  We found some good music and, nine layers of clothing intact, danced like it was 1999- you couldn't really tell what kind of dance moves were happening, but there was lots of puffy people moving, which in and of itself is entertaining.  On the way home, running so as not to freeze ourselves, we stopped at a huge ice filled plaza.  I'm not entirely sure if the intent was an ice skating rink but we hopped on.  As we raced around the rink, all by ourselves, oblivious to the people stopping to watch the ridiculousness until we were finished, I was reminded why I fell in love with my husband in the first place.  That's never a bad thing.

The rest of the weekend we were a real family.  We took turns selling girl scout cookies with Gabriela Catalina and playing trains with Colton.  Last night Ben even got to take Gabriela Catalina to a "Daddy Daughter Valentine's Dance"- her little face shining so bright when she got home because of how much fun she had had dancing with her daddy.  And although Ben had to operate this morning, he made it back in time for us to go to church. 

And for the first time, ever, I got to play legos with my son while Ben made dinner.  And I didn't have to worry about cleaning up after.  The good corner indeed.