Jessica and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day

I loved this book when I was little (the Alexander version). Sometimes you have a really crappy day and you're really pissed about it. That's what happened to Alexander in his book, and today was my turn.

***Caveat: Of course I love Dave. Of course what really matters is I'm marrying who I love. Of course the starving children in Africa are much worse off than me. But today, all I can say to that is: Blah, blah, blah. My life still sucks.***

So Dave was playing soccer on Saturday and ruptured his Achilles tendon. That means he ripped it right in half. It was horribly painful and we spent about a million hours in the ER. I figured he'd be fine. I always figure everything will be fine.

We had to wait til today to meet with the orthopedist to find out what the whole deal was. He confirmed that it was ruptured and recommended surgery, tomorrow. Dave gets his tendon sewed back together in 45 minutes and comes out with a leg he can't use for several months. Also a monstrous boot cast and crutches. I'm not too clear on the details after that given my realization that this time frame obviously overlaps the wedding and honeymoon and my subsequent wails drowned out the doctor.

Not really. I tried to hold it together. Don't be selfish, I reminded myself maniacally. Dave is the one going through surgery, think of him. But the reality of the situation kept revealing itself in miserable chunks. The first thing was, we paid $4000 for photography! Doubtful this boot (whose bulk prevents pants from fitting over it) will photograph well. Next was, we won't be able to have a first dance. Or any dance. This is when the tears really started to flow. The nurses nodded to me in sympathy, impressed with my great concern for the tendon.

We had to race from the doctor's office to a funeral for Dave's friend's father that I'd never met. I cried so much in the car that my nose would have dripped down on my dress if I didn't wipe it soon, and Dave had no tissues in his car. All he had was a dirty sock from the ill-fated soccer game. I blew my nose on the sock. It was a new low.

Upon arrival, my tears ran freely, along with my nose. At least the tears looked appropriate here. I mused that it must be very selfish to cry for myself at someone else's funeral. I wiped my nose til my hands were sticky realizing that our entire wedding would now be themed around this injury. I would not be the main attraction. Every guest we greet will now focus on the booted-ness, the crutchi-ness, the gimpiness. We won't be able to walk from table to table, arms around each other, welcoming and visiting with our friends. We won't be able to walk around holding hands. We won't be able to run off to our car at the end under a shower of rice. Dave can no longer open doors for me or drive our cars, because they're stick-shift. We can't cuddle on the couch anymore because there's not enough room for me and the boot. We can't cuddle on the floor because the boot makes it uncomfortable. In Puerta Vallarta we won't be able to go in the ocean together. We won't be able to ride horses on the beach, parasail, snorkel, or go swimming. We can't jet-ski, ride bikes, or climb on the reefs. The crutches hurt Dave's armpits so badly that he can't walk more than a few yards comfortably- we won't be able to stroll through the town, shopping for souvenirs. Our wedding will still be wonderful. Our reception and our honeymoon are ruined.

I have never been so disappointed. I am devastated.