I slept for fourteen dreamless hours. When I woke up, Anne was in the living room with our dogs. They were all happy to see me when I staggered out of our bedroom.
We had as close to a normal day as we could expect, a nice and boring day where nothing happened, and we didn’t have to go to the emergency room for any reason. I know we only had to go twice, but it feels like it was so much more than that.
At the end of the day, Anne went to sleep a little bit before I did. I had that kind of fatigue where your body is tired but your mind isn’t ready to shut up and go to sleep, so I stayed up and watched two episodes of American Gods, and then the last three episodes of Bojack Horseman’s second season. I got into bed around 1am, and didn’t realize until I was pulling up the sheets that part of me had been holding my breath, expecting something bad to happen.
I slept for twelve hours. When I woke up, I felt like I’d stayed in bed a little too long, but at least I was caught up on sleep. Anne was eating lunch with our son, Nolan.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“How are you?” She said.
“I asked you first.”
“I’m fine. My incisions are a little sore, but I’m really okay.”
“That’s great,” I said, “and I feel like I’m finally caught up on sleep.”
“High-five!”
“Totally.”
I keep feeling these little bits of tension release, bits of lingering worry that I didn’t know were there until they were gone. We’ve made it through the 24 hours or so after surgery without any complication, and our lives are getting back to normal. The dogs can sense it, too, and are starting to ask for walkies. For the first time in what feels like a month but is only five days, I feel like I can oblige them.
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So glad you both got through it. Thanks for sharing. Your writing is lovely….enough so that I’m going to purchase your latest book.
Hang in there Wil. You are loved. Many of us enjoy your voice. Thanks for being you, and not a dick
Your love for Anne is so vibrant and beautiful. I’m am sorry for both of your suffering, but am so appreciative for your willingness to share it all. I just read the entire saga and cried in both sadness and joy. Thank you for sharing your love with us.
Sending good wishes and thoughts to you and Anne. I can feel your panic and desperation and pain through your writing. It’s amazing. Glad to hear she’s on the mend.
Yay!! So happy for both of you! I had a laparoscopic gallbladder removal surgery in March and felt pretty sore for the first few days and then slowly better. I still occasionally had sharp pains, but that was normal. It’s going to be hard to figure out how much is too much, though, I’ll tell you from experience. I thought I was good to walk around the block and discovered half way ’round that I wasn’t. It takes more time to heal than you feel like it should, so just a friendly warning from past experience. So glad Anne is doing so much better!
So glad Anne is on the mend and you’re caught up on sleep!!
Groovy! Gettin’ back to walking the dogs is a wonderful thing. Life’s little joys & routines.
“Maybe there’s something in the refrigerator. Maybe there’s something on the patio. Maybe it’s between the cushions in the couch. Maybe if I walk into our bedroom and sit next to her on the bed. Maybe if I hold her hand. Maybe if I don’t hold her hand. Maybe there’s something in the refrigerator.”
These simple sentences are the most brilliant, evocative writing you have ever produced. I am glad Anne is ok. Thanks for sharing, and thank you for the new shortcut to explain feeling helpless. I’m stealing these.
Relieved to hear things are going to be okay. I’m wishing her a full and speedy healing, but this has clearly taken a tremendous toll on you as well, so sending you good mojo. I’ve been in and out of the hospital for four years and ache each time for the ways my medical crises scare and exhaust my family. At the same time, it makes such a difference having them there, knowing I’m loved. I know Anne must feel the same about having your love and support.
I’m so glad everything is going to be alright! Reading your elegant, heart-wrenching description of what you both went through, I have never worried so much about people I’ve never met. Thank you for sharing your awful experience. I hope others who have or might in the future experience Anne’s pain will get a better diagnosis – maybe they’ll be able to push for the right diagnosis now that they’ve read this. It might even save a life. I felt both blind fury and a bleak lack of surprise when you described the male doctors’ misdiagnoses. It sucks that our country’s health care is so male-centric still. Thank you for your lovely prose, and know that we’re all out here thinking of you both and hoping for a swift, complete, and painless recovery for Anne.
I love how much you love Anne. And you write about it beautifully. You are a good husband, Wil. Sending both of you my thoughts and prayers. I’m so glad she’s doing better! Rest, mend, love your wife. You’re going to be fine.
I do believe that you are one of the most underrated writers of your generation. You are so talented and creative that it makes me want to tell everyone I know “you should read ANYTHING written by Wil Wheaton”. Its rare when words inspire such visceral feelings and vivid images, but you write a story as though you are sitting next to me, relating the events at hand. The most recent account of Anne’s experience inspired a deep ache in my heart for the pain you both felt. I want to hug you………
Im happy to hear she is doing better and that you have finally been able to get some sleep.