Literal pain in my knee, a figurative hole in my heart

I’m not a good sick person. I know I’ve said it before and I’ll reiterate it now: I’m a bear when I’m sick.

My Favourite Husband — a 6-ft.-1, 250-lb. hulk of a man — used to back off when his 5-ft.-4 wife was sick or in pain. But that didn’t mean he didn’t check on me; didn’t mean he didn’t want to comfort me and provide for me. He just knew well enough that coming too close would generally cause a ferocious growl. 

Despite my bluster, I liked it when he checked in on me. I liked that I was loved. I liked knowing that although I was physically ill and I just needed time and rest, I wasn’t in this alone. 

The reality — my reality — is that now I am alone. Usually it’s OK; as OK as it can be. Sometimes, though, it hits. It hits that the person I want most in the world to check on me no longer can because he’s resting in a little country cemetary. 

Why talk about this now right now? Well, I’m in pain. I have a high pain tolerance so, if I’m in pain, I’m hurting. 

I’m trying PRP (platelet rich plasma) injections for my osteoarthritis. This is Round 2. There’s freezing and then the injections. Which are a bit uncomfortable but manageable.

But then the freezing wears off and my knees throb, the pain howls and, well, it’s more than uncomfortable. Ice and Tylenol seem to be my best friends. Along with elevation. 

I knew that they’d be like this because of what I went through the first time and I opted to continue with the treatment with the hope that my mobility would increase, my flexibility would be better. Right now, I can do almost everything I want to do but I’d like to be able to do it better and easier. I’d like to have knees that bend and kneel. So all of this temporary pain is in the pursuit of a longer-term gain (hopefully).

But to get there, I need to experience the pain. Which circles me back to experiencing it alone. As the freezing in my knees dissipated and the full pain began, I sat on my couch and cried. Yes, I hurt physically but even more my heart and mind ached as I listened for the sound of MFH footsteps coming towards the living room to check on me. I heard only silence.

As I laid in bed last night, trying to find a comfortable position where my knees had no pressure on them, I strained to listen for a door softly creaking open and the sound of his breathing and then his deep, rich voice asking if I was awake. If I was OK.

Silence.

I’ve been sick in the three years since he’s been gone. And I’ve had bouts of temporary pain. Hell, I’ve been in the hospital alone with sepsis. And I’ve wanted and needed him each time as well but not like this. This is like having twice the pain this physical and emotional hurt.

I’m pretty sure that the rest of my life will be spent without the comfort and solace of a romantic partner, so getting through this alone will be something that I’ll just need to get used to. 

But sometimes it still hurts.