Oops

You know how preparing for a wedding can put a relationship in a pressure cooker? If you don't, take my word for it.

Back at the end of March, Ken and I had a difference of opinion. There were some WORDS and some hurt feelings. In the final analysis, Ken decided that I was right to be angry with him because of something he said or did - I don't even remember now - so he made me an offer I've always refused.

"Hit me!" he said. "Just give me a good smack. It'll make us both feel better, and then we'll be even again."

In the past I've always said that it was a silly idea and I couldn't possibly. But this time, I was pretty ticked off, so I went ahead and hit him. Not in the face! Good grief - do you think I'm that vicious? I pummeled his sides with the palms of my hands, smack-'em-up style, with what I estimated to be moderate force. He didn't even say "ow". There were no marks, no bruises.


A couple of days later, when he complained that his ribs hurt, I assumed that he had pulled a muscle coughing. (His asthma's been acting up in the past few weeks, possibly from pre-wedding stress.) His ribs hurt quite badly for a couple of days, and then it started to ease up, relatively speaking. I say "relatively" because he hadn't found time to get to the doctor for his asthma, and all the coughing kept re-aggravating his injury.

Last week he finally went to the doctor. And was sent immediately to the x-ray department. Although we haven't gotten the official results back yet, the doctor seemed to think that he has at least one cracked rib. Not from coughing.

From DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.

OMG.

When Ken told me that I had broken his ribs, I felt sick. How could it be true? I'm undeniably a featherweight weakling. My arms are so skinny that I have to get links taken out of my bracelets so they'll stay on my weeny wrists. An eight-year-old once dead-lifted me clean off my feet. A GIRL eight-year-old! I can't open jars by myself! How could I have broken Ken?

I sank to the floor and cried bitter tears of regret. How could I do this to us just before our wedding? On the day of the x-rays, because he'd been forced to contort his body to get good angles for the x-ray tech, he was in severe pain. Standing hurt. Driving hurt. Everything hurt. I freaked out. That freaked him out.

With all the stress his airways squeezed shut even more, and he launched into the worst coughing fit I'd ever heard since we both got mold-poisoning from a contaminated humidifier. In between gasping for breath and barking coughs, he moaned in pain. Every groan and wheeze was like a knife in my heart.

Neither of us slept much that night. That was Tuesday.

Since then, things have gotten a lot better all around. Ken is on stronger asthma medication, which is bringing his breathing back under control. And the pain which resulted from his contortions in the x-ray machine has diminished considerably. He's still in pain, but it's no longer excruciating.

A doctor explained to us that ribs have some weak points, and hitting them at the wrong angle can cause a break without much force. I guess we just had bad luck.

But in the final analysis, this whole fiasco has had a good result. It's brought Ken and I closer together. This is the worst thing I've ever done to him, intentional or unintentional, and he forgave me without any hesitation. In fact, his exact words were "It's not your fault. There's nothing to forgive."

Technically that might be true, but there are a lot of people who would feel justified holding a grudge even if it was entirely an accident.

On this blog I have shared the good news when Ken brings me flowers, or showers me with gifts, or cooks me a gourmet dinner. But nothing he's ever done for me or given me has been as precious a gift as this instantaneous, complete, unconditional, and unquestioned forgiveness. Even as he was doubled over in pain, almost unable to breathe, he forgave me. It's a blessing beyond compare.

Ken will still be a bit sore on our wedding day, but if we're sticking together in sickness and in health, what better way to prove it? And if anyone feels that's not a good enough excuse, I'll just tell them I had to beat him up and drug him to get him up the aisle.

In closing, consider this a warning. Obviously I'm a raging angerball, endowed with supernatural strength. So watch what you say in the comments, or I'll find out where you live and beat you up next! Grrrrrrr....