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I knew I was in trouble.
And it was just a stumble. A slight misstep as Cathy chased after a ball hit by our youngest grandchild. She didn’t fall or tumble down the side of the hill. She didn’t lie on the ground and cry for help. She kept right on playing.
But she came up limping. And my heart skipped several beats…
You’re going to need a little background. If I cut my finger or twist an ankle or have a bad cold or a rash breaks out on the back of my left hand—I demand the attention my infirmity requires. I moan. I cry. I DO roll around on the ground. I DO cry out for help!
Listen, I’m in pain here! Sometimes it takes weeks for my hangnail to re-hang.
Cathy puts a wet rag on my forehead and dispenses the medical attention I require with grace and patience. I don’t have to lift a finger while incapacitated.
The household continues to run with the precision of a well-oiled vintage Number 4 Seth Thomas double dial “Fashion” clock.
Cathy doesn’t get sick. She doesn’t have a rash. She doesn’t have an “off” day. She just keeps going and going; like that Energizer Bunny on steroids.
When our boys were young, they would play with me all day long. I could make them laugh; we had the best time pretending the bed was a raft floating down the Cascade River; we chased moonbeams and hid from the Abominable Snowman…but if something went wrong, the world didn’t feel right—they both made a bee-line for their mother!
She is the rock in this family.
She didn’t utter a word about her leg for a month. When I asked about the limp, she would only say, “My knee is a little sore.”
I called Dr. Rick Williams. He was at the house in no time, examined Cathy’s knee and rightly discerned it to be a torn meniscus. The surgery went off without a hitch…for Cathy.