We pull the sheet to the top of the bed before we move to the foot and straighten it out. We tuck in the corners the way my grandma taught me years ago when I was a young girl. We do this slowly, stumbling at times before we declare the bed made after the pillows are tossed on. I smile at Matt who looks tired and confused. He’s not sure what we just completed or if he could do it again alone and without prompting. “You know,’ I said, ‘I consider this a positive side affect of having the tumour because if training you on how to do domestic chores exactly the way I want… Well, let’s just say that women all over the country would be hoping their husbands could have brain tumours too!” He stops and smiles at me and we continue on to the next task.
Our bedroom has turned into a meeting hub post hospital. Matt is relieved to be at home and we are pleased he is doing so well. My biggest fear is that Matt falls – although he falls well. It was only 48 hours after his surgery that Matt took a very dangerous fall in the hospital. He was getting out of bed when his foot became entangled in the sheets and tripped him over and I watched in horror, expecting to witness his head come into contact with the wall but instead he tucked his head and rolled, taking the impact on his side as he landed on his shoulder. I believe this type of landing was instinctive to his years of rugby. Rugby is in his blood and it may get him through this recovery better than I could have planned. It is a rough sport but the brotherhood of players is timeless and shows no bounds. For it is the rugby brothers who have pulled together to sit with Matt in bed and watch movies, eat popcorn, order pizza and even wear their PJs while doing so. I hear them discussing, laughing and at times there is just the quietness of sleep; for whatever state Matt is in they are prepared to be there alongside him and prepared to pull him into a stronger and healthier day.
Matt and Dane