When You Are Broken...And Have Kids

When you trip, fall, take a spill or in any other way injure yourself, it sucks. That’s just the end of that. But when you have children, there is a whole new set of suckiness that goes along with being broken.

I herniated (another) disc. It’s bad. I had to be hauled away in an ambulance, doped up on pain meds (which I HATE taking), and waited on. I can’t do much of anything. Aside from the lack of movement, the excruciating pain, and the severe annoyance of not being able to do anything for myself, I have my kids.

Kids don’t get it. Not really. They understand the fact that you’re hurt. They bring you drawings of flowers and smiley faces. They say “Hope you feel better” and all that but then it’s all "Why can't you do this for me?" and "OW! Waaaaaah! I hit my hand on the doorknob!"

Seriously? 

When all is said and done, though, I’m glad they don’t understand because, if they did, that would mean they’d been through something like this and I am thankful every damn day that they haven’t.