When Home's Not So Sweet

I should be overjoyed that he's not lying in a hospital bed, right? I should be jumping for joy. Doing happy dances. Basking in the fresh air that can only be found outside the walls of that hospital room.

But I'm not.

I'm questioning my decision to encourage this move. I'm regretting my push to get his surgeon on board. He's in so much pain right now. So much pain. After a restless night, this morning was rough on him. He had to crutch around for a few minutes to prove he was mobile enough to leave, and the pain from that was so excruciating that it wiped him out for hours. I knew then that I should have put my foot down and forced him to stay put another night. But he was so eager and so excited to be home.

So home we are. And he's in a world of hurt. More pain than he's experienced since the accident. His suffering is so severe, it made him cry out in pain. That never happens. Never.

He didn't scream when the accident happened. He didn't scream when he tried to reset what he thought was a dislocated knee himself. He didn't scream when he drove himself back to the truck on the same ATV that had rolled over him. He didn't even scream as his leg bounced around as they headed the 20 miles back down the mountain on the rocky, 4-wheel drive trail to get to the main road.

So hearing him scream made me want to immediately throw him in the car and drive him straight back to the security of hospital. But he simply won't have that. Sometimes he's too tough for his own good. And sometimes, in my haste to hurry his healing along, I'm rushing what cannot be rushed.

This, above all, will be a test of patience.