Bad Timing

I'm sitting in the living room watching Italy run circles around Germany in the semi-final for the UEFA Euro Championship game, thinking about how much can change in a very short amount of time. For instance, it only takes seconds (lucky opportunistic seconds) in soccer to score a goal. We are in the 50th minute. That's 40 whole minutes for Germany to make a come back. I've seen them win a game in the last five minutes. A lot can change.

My husband and I are leaving for the South in just two days. We haven't really packed as much as we should have because things have changed. I took my poor hubby into the clinic yesterday, only because he refused to go in the day before. From the looks of irritation flashing my way via the doctor and nurses, that was a poor choice. In fact, I didn't even mind (that much) waiting until yesterday to go in with him--he seemed to be getting better. How wrong we were. They put him on oxygen, took blood to send down to the Mayo Clinic, and promptly ordered an ambulance to get him to the hospital. The doctor in the ER was amazing. He pumped John full of pain meds, antibiotics, and fluids as soon as he could. The nurses were kind. But they strongly suggested that he stay overnight. Now, my husband has good reasons for hating hospitals and I wasn't about to force him to do something he really didn't want to do. So, pumped full of these drugs, we went home. Yet another bad decision. I've never been so scared and worried in my life. It was a rough night. Because of our usual bad luck when it comes to anything medical (the last time he went to the ER in the middle of the night, he ended up with a doctor who almost killed him via overdose), he refused my insistance to take him back in. "It sucks there," was all he could muster between chattering teeth. Mayo won't be getting back to us for another week, by which time we will probably have access to a nice VA hospital--maybe one which John wouldn't mind spending the night in. At least Mayo will be able to tell us what is going on. His symptoms have suggested some tick related disease; I'm just praying it's nothing too serious. He has antibiotics and anti-nausea pills (the latter does not seem to be working, making the first useless). I know he's wishing for pain meds what with the migraine he's had for the last three days. Trust me, as someone who suffers from chronic migraines, I can't imagine the horror he is experiencing.

So, like the Germans, I'm hoping for some change. It's the 75th minute, and they are still down by two goals. The way the Italians are playing, they will probably score a third soon. It's day three on John's sickness from hell, and right now, it seems like there will be many more of these days to come. My only hope is that I don't underestimate how bad this sickness could be, and let the love of my life fall too far into pain and misery.

Married Life: Week Two

On June 02, 2012, I officially became Kristen Young. The day was perfect--sun streaming through the occasional cloud, leaves rustling with the slight breeze keeping the men cool. My heart felt like it was about to give out. It's been years since I'd felt so nervous--I think I was staring at a 6 foot tall girl pounding her way down the soccer field with nothing protecting the goal but my shaking oven mitts.

I hid behind a tree with my dad to keep my appearance as much of a surprise as possible for John.

 Someone decided to expose me anyway. My dad and I talked about nothing in particular, waiting for our signal. It was behind that tree that I realized--holy crap. I'm getting married. I suppose this is the moment most people reflect on their lives, what lead them to this moment. So I did. I thought of the first time I met this man. Thought of the first impression I had as I sat next to him in front of a roaring fire. A charismatic man, I knew I wanted to get to know him. But marry him? Does anyone see that the moment they meet their significant other? He talked about cars, joked about religion, was the life of the party. I met my bridesmaid that day as well. She was the object of much of his teasing about 'idol worship.' He was the most fascinating man I had ever met, and I was enchanted. I still am. I don't think I'll ever know everything, even all the highlights, of the 28 years that occurred before I met my husband. He continues to surprise me. These were things I thought about behind those trees, feeling stupid at the supposed secrecy. I thought about how I couldn't wait to begin spending the rest of my life with him.

The music began; Christina Perry's "A Thousand Years" was the song I'd chosen (no one would let me use "Bad Company" by Five Finger Death Punch. Spoilsports). I watched Ben walk forward to take his spot, Bible in hand. Then Kenzie, my MOH and Heath, John's best man, walked forward. I think everyone was a little nervous, very little humor was on anyone's face. Probably because my girls were focused on keeping their heels from sticking in the ground as they walked. Finally, I watched my honey start his walk, which was more like a great bound. I willed him to slow down, and as if he had heard me, he slowed to a more controlled speed. I felt like throwing up. I wasn't nervous about the act of getting married. I love John with all my heart, and I can't imagine going through this life without him. I was nervous about messing up the vows (which were short and to the point). And of course, I did. Twice. I was so focused on John and how handsome he looked in his suit that my memory missed a few beats as I attempted to recite the few words directed toward me.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the ceremony--from start to finish it was less than 10 minutes. We told Ben at the rehearsal that short and quick was what we wanted, and he delivered. I can't really give comment on what the audience looked like, or the expressions on my parents faces (though my mom assured me she was bawling). My eyes stuck to the ground as I walked toward John, scared of tripping on my dress. When I arrived to stand before Ben and next to John, my eyes darted between my hubby and the preacher. I did have to fight back some tears as I saw the happiness I felt reflected in my man's eyes. As we walked toward the tent full of food relief coursed through me--it was over. Now John and I could stop stressing and just relax. How wrong I was. From the mingling to the desperate feeling of confusion, we stumbled around trying to figure out just what happens at a reception. After all, we've never been married before. Lucky for us, John's Mom, Sharon, had. She did help lead us around, but it was a flurry of 'do this, now that,' before a long string of fabulous pictures were taken by Beth Iliff, my friend, Kara's Mom. By the end of the day, all we wanted was to go to our hotel and sleep. Our feet hurt, and our facial muscles jumped erratically from the effort of smiling so much.

All in all, it was a long, stressful, yet happy day. I'm glad it went well, but I'm even happier that it is now a memory. I'm hoping to suppress the memory of pain (my feet had swollen from the heat and no longer fit in my shoes. I spent hours in shoes that felt two sizes too small). I can't express how thankful I am to everyone who made the event happen, not to mention all the presents we received. Moving to Georgia has been made a little bit easier by the contributions to all who attended the wedding--the best wedding present of all.

Of course, the day had to start absurdly early. There were four other weddings happening that day, so our nails were painted at 6AM. Hair at 10. 

Of course, there was cake.

There were speeches from Heath (thankfully he kept the stories from their Navy days out of it), Kenzie (Adam Paulson was proud), and John. I know people expected me to speak as well, but I was still in nauseated mode. Something definitely worth documenting was how awesome my dad looked in his tux.

And my flower girl was up to her usual silliness.

My mom looked very good that day too.

 

The rings... I wanted to inscribe "One ring to rule them all" on John's, but it didn't work out.

Our friends, Adam and Shawna, celebrated their 6th anniversary on our wedding day. Six years to our zero.

Family came from all over to see us get married, and that meant more to me than most anything else on this day. I hadn't seen these people in a very long time.

My great aunts Joanie and Mary, grandma Betty, my great uncle Hermann and grandpa Don next to his brother Bruce.

We are coming up on our second week of being married. I'm still having a hard time getting used to calling John my husband. My signature still says "McCu--Young." I still have to change my name on everything official. Other than that...nothing has changed. John and I have been living together for seven months, so it's not like we're shocking each other with our habits, ticks, and perks. Getting married has been, for both of us, just an event in our every day lives. We get new titles: "Mrs, Wife, Husband, ect," which we have been enjoying using. But nothing else has altered, yet. I've fallen more in love with him since then, and happier than ever that I get to look forward to being old and grey with John. Let people continue to look down on the institution. Let those divorcees stay grim and negative. I'm happy being married to the love of my life. I don't think that's ever going to get old.

Thanks, Dad.