It was too good to be true.
On our calendar. In ink. A week-long, old-school, pack-up-the-van, wear-swim-suits-all-day-until-you-chafed, summer vacation.
The first part would be spent in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with five of my besties from high school and our families. My friend’s parents have a compound right on the lake and my kids were thrilled that we would be sleeping in their pop-up camper. (We aren’t outdoorsy people, so this was a Big Deal.)
The rest of the week, we were staying off the beaten path in the Wisconsin Dells right on the Wisconsin river with a beach, pool, air conditioning, gas grill, free water park tickets and mini fridge. (Our version of roughing it.) Our suite’s deck overlooked the river and its dramatic rock formations — perfect for nightcaps while the kids dozed off inside.
That was the plan.
You may recall, two weeks ago I posted a Recap of the Past 10 Days that ended with Tom going to the ER in fear that he might have kidney stones again.
“The good news is that the results came back negative for stones. Maybe he has some kind of strain. The bad news, well, if you haven’t figured out our life story by now, is that the other shoe will drop at the most inopportune time.”
That inopportune time occurred the morning we were leaving for our trip. Tom bent over to pick up a shirt, tweaked some bizzaro nerve that fired up his entire leg. He collapsed on the bed. His whole limb was numb and the throbbing pain in his knee felt like a stabbing knife.
I am not proud to admit that I my first thought was, “So help me God, if we have to cancel this trip, I am going to lose my shit. I gotta get the hell out of here!” Last summer, Tom was the only person who was able to get away. Sure, it was with the help anesthesia. He was knocked out six times for kidney stone procedures, but at least he was able to escape!
I bit my tongue and stifled my infamous “sighs” that drive him insane. He managed to get up and into the shower. Our plan was to leave after work, so I drove him to the train and he shuffled off to the office. He called his back doc (my Lemon in the Garden of Love herniated a disc a few years ago) and got set up on some steroids to reduce the swelling.
I gave him a half-assed out, but he insisted that he was okay. Selfishly relieved, I gallantly loaded up the van and we headed out onto the open road.
Who really needs to have feeling in both legs anyway?
Especially the driver.
Okay, now Google thinks my butt stinks. Is anyone else getting the ad for “A Sprayed Behind is a Clean Behind?” It’s sad when your own blog insults you.