That's Not Heavy, Is It?
Before I start this blog, I wanted to tell Motherhen that I left her a comment on my last blog. We will now join our regularly scheduled blog.....
I'm not sure, but I think Carl is recovering from his surgery fairly quickly. Either that, or he's a good liar. I keep asking him "Is that too heavy?" when he picks something up or "Are you hurting yourself?" when he's apparently straining doing some task or another. The answer is always "No!" so I'm assuming that he's being careful. I keep warning him that he'd better be careful because I don't want to have to rush him off to the hospital. But Carl will do what he wants to do, and there's nothing I can do to make him stop, short of duct taping him to a chair. (don't tempt me!)
For example: Saturday I mowed our lawn with our newly acquired John Deere garden tractor. I thought that using the Deere in the back yard was out of the question, because the tractor wouldn't fit through either gate, but Carl said that if we pulled out the fence post next to the garage, we could get the tractor through the south gate. This post wasn't attached to anything - it was just there to help latch the south gate shut. I wasn't too sure about this: I was afraid that Carl would hurt himself trying to pull the post up. I guess I should mention that the post is a treated wood 4 x 4. Anyway, we wiggled the post back and forth, then I tried to pull it out, but I wasn't strong enough. So Carl, genius engineer that he is, had me get the bottle jack and a chain, and he wrapped the chain around the post and used the jack to pull the post out of the ground. He was sitting for most of the time, and he had to wrap and unwrap the chain several times, but finally the post came up enough that I could pull it out. But the whole time I kept asking Carl if he was OK, and he always said he was fine. But later that evening he finally confessed that he was a little sore on his right side. I did the concerned-then-irritated routine with him, but he insisted it wasn't too bad and went to bed. Sunday morning he said he felt good, and even wore regular waist pants to church. He didn't do anything yesterday even remotely stressful (except scold the girls) so I suppose I should stop worrying so much. And I will, once he goes back to work tomorrow. The heaviest thing he has to lift there is a 12 ounce can of Mountain Dew.
I'm not sure, but I think Carl is recovering from his surgery fairly quickly. Either that, or he's a good liar. I keep asking him "Is that too heavy?" when he picks something up or "Are you hurting yourself?" when he's apparently straining doing some task or another. The answer is always "No!" so I'm assuming that he's being careful. I keep warning him that he'd better be careful because I don't want to have to rush him off to the hospital. But Carl will do what he wants to do, and there's nothing I can do to make him stop, short of duct taping him to a chair. (don't tempt me!)
For example: Saturday I mowed our lawn with our newly acquired John Deere garden tractor. I thought that using the Deere in the back yard was out of the question, because the tractor wouldn't fit through either gate, but Carl said that if we pulled out the fence post next to the garage, we could get the tractor through the south gate. This post wasn't attached to anything - it was just there to help latch the south gate shut. I wasn't too sure about this: I was afraid that Carl would hurt himself trying to pull the post up. I guess I should mention that the post is a treated wood 4 x 4. Anyway, we wiggled the post back and forth, then I tried to pull it out, but I wasn't strong enough. So Carl, genius engineer that he is, had me get the bottle jack and a chain, and he wrapped the chain around the post and used the jack to pull the post out of the ground. He was sitting for most of the time, and he had to wrap and unwrap the chain several times, but finally the post came up enough that I could pull it out. But the whole time I kept asking Carl if he was OK, and he always said he was fine. But later that evening he finally confessed that he was a little sore on his right side. I did the concerned-then-irritated routine with him, but he insisted it wasn't too bad and went to bed. Sunday morning he said he felt good, and even wore regular waist pants to church. He didn't do anything yesterday even remotely stressful (except scold the girls) so I suppose I should stop worrying so much. And I will, once he goes back to work tomorrow. The heaviest thing he has to lift there is a 12 ounce can of Mountain Dew.
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