Then at 3:17 AM on a Tuesday morning, everything changed.
I woke up to a crash from our bathroom.
Racing in, I found my wife Sarah on the floor, sobbing.
The bottle of highly addictive pain killers had fallen from the top shelf.
She couldn't reach it.
Her shoulder - the one that had been "manageable" for months - had finally given out.
"I can't do it anymore," she whispered. "I can't even get my own painkillers."
Sarah is a critical care nurse. Was a critical care nurse. For 19 years, she worked in the ICU - lifting, turning, and repositioning patients who couldn't move themselves.
The wear on her shoulders was gradual, then sudden.
Now she couldn't lift her arm past 45 degrees.
But Here's What Destroyed Me:
When I tried to help her up, she screamed.
I touched her shoulder.
That's all it took.
We hadn't hugged - really hugged - in 4 months.
Every embrace ended in wincing.
Every attempted comfort became another reminder of what we'd lost.
The woman who once lifted 200-pound patients couldn't hug her own husband.
And I just stood there.
Useless.
An orthopedic surgeon who couldn't even help his own wife.
I'd tried everything my training taught me. Physical therapy. Cortisone shots. Ice. Heat. TENS units.
Nothing worked for more than a few hours.
The "experts" weren't any better: