A sore elbow, a recovering knee. Isn't life good?

Yesterday, my husband had surgery on his right elbow. He had seen Dr. Elrod a couple of months ago regarding his inability to straighten it out or bend it towards is face. It has been an ongoing, nagging pain for years. The MRI showed bone fragments floating in his joint and bone spurs causing his elbow to lock. We saw Dr. Elrod for my post-op visit, who said I could start weight bearing with my brace on, then we checked my husband in for surgery. As I started my physical therapy, I chuckled to myself. Who would have thought the three of us would need orthopaedic surgery, by the same doctor, in less than 8 months. As I look at my husband, pilllar of physical strenght, lying on the stretcher, our eyes connect with gentle understanding. This is just a bump in the road for us. As we make small talk, I think about the giant steps we have taken these last few months. As his stretcher rolls down the hall, I walk to the waiting area and breathe a prayer for the love of my life. Waiting for the call of the nurse to tell us his surgery is over, Dr. Elrod draws a picture of my husband's battered elbow. The years of football and abuse of his joints resulted in broken fragments, bone spurs. As I look at the picture and listen to this kind doctor's gentle voice of knowledge, I feel the most overwhelming gratitude to be here, in this conference room, looking at this drawing. I am here. There have been times when we could have walked out on each other, forgotten, misplaced, or thrown away our love. As I follow the nurse to the bedside of my mate, I hear his rumbling voice and pray a thank-you. As the curtain draws back and I see the sparkles of grey, splashed with brown, his eyes light up for me. I inquire about his pain. He says he is fine. He is ready to go home. As the nurse questions my eyes, she is worried about his pain, for our trip home. I explain, we agree, we understand. As the nurse prepares his medicine for the pain, my husband says he wouldn't want to go through all this with anyone else but me. I smile. He tells me he will play golf tommorrow. The nurse's eyes fly open in disbelief. Mine, do not. I know more about this man than his elbow, I know his soul. We know each other.