The Wounded Soldier

So my beloved has done what all men do when they reach a certain age, and haven't realised it yet.  He has torn up his knee playing an aggressive young man's game.  Australian rules football is played on a pitch that is twice as wide as an American football field, and at least double the length.  The guys wear no pads or protection, and they constantly run around kicking a football to each other.  Oh...and it's FULL TACKLE.  Sometimes it is really hard to watch.  It's hardest to watch when you see your other half lying on the ground writhing in pain.

At that moment, the world stops.  You tell yourself "don't cry, don't cry".  Never have you seen him in so much pain, and you physically feel it yourself.

With the help of a few good friends, we got him into a taxi, and we were off to the hospital.  When he didn't refuse the offer of a wheelchair from a friendly hospital volunteer, I knew it was bad.  Two weeks later, his knee is still bigger than his thigh, and we can't do an MRI until the swelling goes down a bit, but it looks as though some ligaments are torn.  He heard a snap when it happened. 

He injured his knee on a Saturday, and Sunday we stayed indoors all day.  I set him up on the pull out couch in the living room, and anything he could have needed was in reach.  All that was missing was a bell for me to come running after!  I poo pooed over his every wince, and nursed his hurts as best I could.  But Monday, I had to go away for work for three days. 

I knew he would live if left alone, but I hated leaving him like that.  So I made a week's worth of his favourite meals and snacks, which only had to be heated up in plastic containers (so they wouldn't get hot) and could be put into a tote bag to hobble back to his cocoon on crutches.  I set up the table with paper plates and set silverware out ready for him to just sit down and eat, only having to carry around the minimum.

He joked that he could just as easily dial up a pizza or other takeaway.  It was then that I realised I wasn't cooking all that food for him...I was cooking it for myself!  The only way I was going to be comfortable leaving him was if I left him with a full stomach - or at least the tools required to have a full stomach!

I had to laugh at myself...cooking for love.  Always cooking for love.