maria

giving it away

So thanksgiving came and went (happy thanksgiving if you celebrated), and we had to go get Will checked. The doctor was very nice - and old, apparently, as he kept saying "you know, I'm 50", like some kind of demented child right after his birthday - and very thorough. We went because we were hoping he would go "Yes! It is indeed time for you to take that thing off and do such and such exercises!". No such luck. Instead we found out Will also has a torn ligament on the interior side of the ankle, which will take longer to heal. And so he has to wear a boot - a rehabilitation boot - that makes him look partially automated and reminds him of Janet Jackson circa Rhythm Nation.

Now if he only knew the lyrics.

We were able to buy the boot immediately after being at the doctor's. He told us it would probably be closed, and to go in the morning, and we were planning to, but I abhor getting lost when it comes down to the wire, and so usually do a "test drive" if you will, figure out where the place is exactly before having to go there in record time without actually knowing where it is, and so we did, and we found it, and it turned out it was open. So we bought the thing.

We went to TGIFriday's afterwards and seeing him in a fantastic mood, we decided that what he needs is to not be stuck at home so much. I realise getting around is a fucking drag, what with having to use the crutches still and whatnot, but he has been a little grumpy and tired during the week and my feelings are that he is grumpy and tired because all he gets to do is go to work and come home. That cannot be good for anybody. And so now, making good use of said boot, it should be a bit easier for him to get around, and so we will. Hopefully. If I can think of a place to go. Which shall be seen yet.

insurance

I went to the insurance company offices today. I had been putting it off - even though I know you can't put it off forever, or even longer than a month, it seems - because I thought it was going to be... well, it's an insurance company, isn't it? And what kind of insurance company makes you go to them? (This is the point when someone tells me that you are always supposed to go to them, and I am just spoilt and being used to having the insurance people come to my home and console me has not helped me move into the real world) And so I thought it was going to be hell.

It wasn't, they were very nice.

Of course, whether they pay us back for the medical expenses remains to be seen, but still, they were nice.

I was dreading it because I dread these things in general. You know, dealing with people and having to get documents sorted. Those kinds of situations. Maybe it's a Mexican thing. A friend of mine used to say that the moment you are born in Mexico, there is already something wrong with your documentation, and going through anything that has to do with the government will always imply getting your hands on some obscure document that you were always supposed to have had.

And that's the thing, you were always supposed to have it and so now, not only do you not have it so you cannot get the process completed - that is whatever thing landed you in a government office in the first place - but you have to pay charges and fines for not having the document you didn't know you were supposed to have. At the end of it all, you are several Pesos lighter and you have fixed absolutely nothing. Life in Mexico is wonderful.

In any case, this insurance company did ask me for a document I had not taken with me, but it was in the car, so it was fine. I didn't think I would need it but I did and so it's there now. Two weeks from now, they tell me, they will give us a check for the money back. Two weeks is more likely to be a month, but still, that is done and it makes me happy. Now if only we can get through the next week, the whole ordeal of the crutches and whatnot will be done.

BTW: It's our anniversary tomorrow - 2 years. Forever it will be the anniversary he spent on crutches, which will be funny at some point. Some of it is funny now, even. So there.

the longest week

You mean it's not over? Gah!

It's Thursday. My disbelief is such that I asked Will three or four times what day it was today. it feels like it's Friday. Hell, it feels like it's NEXT Friday. This whole thing with the foot has sort of lengthened our days, if that makes sense. Will is in pain from the foot, from the use of the crutches, from the emotional blow. It's just been hard for him. Selfishly - It's all about me -, it's been hard for me also. It's the thing plus the way I've been feeling since the accident, and I just... I don't know. We spoke about it yesterday.

Will doesn't feel so great when there's something wrong with him ("Well, duh!" I can hear you saying, but I mean emotionally, it really gets to him quickly), and so this foot thing, combined with the glasses thing, combined with whatever the hell else you want to throw in, has him feeling a bit down. This is why I was so happy to find the review thing at the ex-pat's list, because it helps him feel happier about things, pushes him to write a bit more, which makes him even happier and so on and so forth, because this whole thing needs to stop. I need him to be strong because I don't have anyone to lean on but him. I mean, I know there's you, because of course there's you, but you have enough going on and I don't tell you everything, obviously. Because you're OUT THERE. And we're in here. And I don't need everything OUT THERE.

There's a lot of pressure to be happy. Because half the people I knew before this thing happened went "you'll never be happy". The thing is, I am still me. And so I still feel like I do. And Will fell in love with this - which is weird to me but it's not my job to explain it or understand it, even -, and so he takes it as it comes. And sometimes, even though I know there is every reason to be happy, I cannot help my brain chemistry. And sometimes I don't feel so great.

The good thing about this relationship is that Will is essentially a very happy man. It's his natural state. I envy him so much. There was a moment when I thought happy people were just idiots, but now I just wish I had that. I wish I could be that. In any case, the fact that he is happy makes him able to help me. I can lean on him. Which is nice. Really. I worry that he will get tired of this but he'd tell me I am wrong to worry.

Anyway, so he has a broken ankle. Incomplete fracture and whatnot, it is still a fucking drag and he is just sick of it. More than a week to go with it, too. Our anniversary is coming up next Saturday. Well, one of them. I don't know that we will actually be celebrating it on Saturday, because we may or may not have the children here - which would put a damper on any chandelier-swinging, providing we could chandelier-swing with the foot situation as it is -, but so probably we will celebrate on Sunday. Will has the Monday off, because of the 20th of November. The Monday is the 19th, but they do the long weekend thing, so that if people wanted to leave the city for a long weekend, they could. And so we will be able to go out to dinner or something.

The foot

Will mentioned that he kicked the ground Friday. Efraín and Ileana came over last Saturday - yes, they are being totally cool these days, V - and Efraín told all about the time when he twisted his knee and they recommended that he kept his foot up and whatnot.

This clearly made an impression on Will - who had been walking around the flat in hopes that the walking would make it better. Apparently the wrong thing to do -, because the next day he wanted to go to hospital, get the foot checked. Good thing he wanted to because I would never have offered to take him otherwise. I don't have a problem with hospitals or doctors, but Will does and so. I'm not his mum!

The doctor rolled his eyes when he found out that the accident had happened Friday. I think this must happen all the time, you know, when you think it's nothing but then it doesn't go away quickly enough for it to really be nothing so then you go to the doctor and then it turns out you are doing exactly the wrong thing for this nothing thing that you had? Well.

They got x-rays, during which they asked him "lifestyle" questions, smoking, drinking, etcetera. All this time  it just feels like this will be sorted out immediately, like this is maybe even funny now - as opposed to funny later. Then, of course, the x-rays were done and when they looked at the things it became apparent that it wouldn't. Be sorted out immediately. So it's not. Funny now, I mean. Maybe later, though. Maybe.

He has an incomplete fracture of the fibula. The fibula is the outside ankle bone, the one that sort of protrudes. This bone keeps your foot from twisting to the side, and the very tip of it is sort of cracked. It is not a big deal - although it is a bigger deal than we hoped for - and it will have no complications if he manages to keep his foot up and keep his weight off it. It's been hard on his left, uninjured, leg, because he has to keep his weight on it, aided by crutches.

Good times.

It's not that I don't want you to know

I just don't write. Not just to you, to anyone. My dad has just written to me today. One line: "Rosi, - that's what he calls me, don't make fun - how are you, - no question mark, he's new to this newfangled keyboard thingie and if you ever saw his handwriting, you'd think he was new at that, too - I sent you an e-mail last week, I love you a lot. Your dad."

He did e-mail last week, and I read it, and was very happy to get the e-mail, told Will about it and forgot to write back. It's also that I hate that I write back immediately and then don't hear from him until he fucking feels like it, but that's by the by.

Then there's the draft. I have a draft in there that's for M. I want to finish it, I know it's important, but I don't know what to say. I'm OK with talking on the phone, I have tons of stuff to say over the phone, I'm half OK with messaging services, I suppose, it's just e-mails and handwritten letters that I'm not so good with. We have a package to send to V that I'm writing something for and still, not done.

So there you have it. I'm not writing and that's why I don't write. Things are well, the kids are well, everything is fine. Great, even. So, we're good, thank you.