Marriage…I say the word and I hear the goofy priest on Princess Bride. Marriage is what keeps two people together. (Okay you need to know I typed this section AFTER the section that follows about Asher’s eye appointment. And the humor in remembering that line has melted some of my worry away. Read on, you’ll understand.)
I am married. When I have to mark on some application my “marital status” I usually mark mine “very married.” Nelson and I have been married since February 17, 1979. He could have left several times. I’ve not been easy to be married to. But then again, neither has he. He’s moody and chronically depressed. His body is breaking down. He’s a perfectionist. He doesn’t understand unconditional love. He is extremely opinionated. He is dogmatic. He is a procrastinator. And I wouldn’t trade him for the world.
He has loved and encouraged his children—even up to the big fight with Ann, he was trying to help her out. He gives unselfishly to others. He spoils me rotten. He cooks like a dream. He does the grocery shopping and is amazing at it. He fixes everything. He works harder than three people. He knows me and loves me. And it doesn’t get much better than that.
I never really lived independently. Summers at Cedar Point don’t really count. I went from being under my Mom and Dad’s care to being married. I don’t know how to be any other way. And though I could probably adapt, I think I’ll keep this arrangement for as long as I can, thank you very much.
Beth is taking Asher for his appointment with the Pediatric Ophthalmologist over in Akron. Since she made the appointment about a month ago his eye drifting has gotten worse. Everyone comments on it, but it just makes me sick to my stomach. I feel responsible. If weak eye muscles are genetically hereditary, then I am the passing culprit. I know that they typically recommend patches and other ways to strengthen the muscle, but the most effective means of correction is surgery—and babies and surgery just make me want to cry.
Beth was telling me that she had done some reading and most procedures are done as out patient surgery—they still have to put them under. And with the procedures being done with lasers, I’m sure that the residual scarring is minimal—unlike my scar tissue that prevents any further correction from being possible.
So when the phone rings later, picture me jumping. I told Beth to call me with the word from the doctor. She looked reluctant since she knew that I would be meeting with participants one-on-one in the morning and teaching class in the afternoon. This is one phone call that I’m going to take—no matter what!
Ron was going to go with her to the appointment, but got to work last night (through a temp agency at Archway Cookies). Beth called a friend and she’s riding along. I’m glad she’ll have someone with her to navigate to Akron Children’s Hospital and also provide extra ears to hear what the doctor says.
Ok…that’s enough about that. It’s funny—in that ironic weird sort of way. I don’t consider myself a worrier. Is this what worry feels like? My stomach is churning. I don’t feel like I’m thinking clearly. My thoughts are racing and skipping all over. I think I’m going to go get quiet before I dash out the door for Ntown.
Edit: I guess it's later. I just heard from Beth. Asher has a perscription. He is far-sighted. Beth is to get him glasses and that could correct the problem. If it does than great. If not then surgery may be indicated.Beth feels optimisitic so I'm going to feed on her positive attitude and trust.
Glasses might have worked for me, but my brother stomped on them and my parents never replaced them. Thankfully, Asher has no siblings. ")