Soon after the door shut and Joe was off to his medical tests yesterday, I got down to work. I love writing in the very early morning because it's so quiet out. I have a due date for a chapter that I'm writing on sexuality for people who use augmentative or alternative communication - we need it at work, it's needed elsewhere, it's a good use of time. I had been working on it piecemeal over the last few weeks and had finally come up with the framework for the chapter, written the examples and drafted the notes from which the final text would come.
I knew that I'd be sitting home an worrying about Joe, I figured that becoming engrossed in work was the best way to pass the time. Normally when I'm writing something that requires a lot of focus I can shut down everything, all worries and wants disappear. I tucked gleefully into a section called 'Language Equals Power' and the words came well. Sentences appeared and progress was made. But my eye never left the small numbers at the right hand bottom corner of my computer, I watched them count down minutes.
I saw the time come when Joe was to go in for testing. I began counting down the 90 minutes it was to take. I kept shaking my head trying to focus solely on a project that deserved attention. Section after section were finished but my eye never left the clock on the bottom corner of the screen.
Joe had promised to call when he was done and sure enough, finally, the phone rang. There hadn't been a phone at the clinic so he was calling from across the street and was home a couple of seconds after the call. He had a paper with him that gave him the results of the test. Normally you get tested, then you wait (and worry). But no, it was all finished and he literally had a clean bill of health.
He hadn't eaten for almost two days so he had a bite to eat and then took a lay down. After I was sure he was tucked into bed I went back to work. Magically the numbers disappeared from the bottom corner and I managed to almost finish the task. I have a bit of research left to do, I'm working on a list of the language that's absolutely manditory to be able to assess consent to sexual activity (you need neither "fallopian tube" nor "epididimus").
Later on we went shopping to pick up groceries. I have a pot luck meeting at work tomorrow and we're making a spicy tortellini soup (from scratch of course). Joe walked quietly alongside my power wheelchair and said, 'I guess we get more of this'.
I didn't say anything back because I couldn't.
I needed some of that alternative or augmentative communication.