Is this love, or is that the Vicodin kicking in?

My husband Aaron (I debated calling him Frank or something to help him save face a wee bit, but anyone who will probably read this knows us so what's the point) and I have spent a large amount of our 8 wonderful years together in and out of emergency rooms, operating rooms, doctor's offices, specialist's offices, and even dabbled in a bit of Eastern medicine.  So much so that I debated writing a tell all book about us called "Love in a Hospital", but decided a blog will have to do.  Even our first month as a couple was not saved from the chaos that we have come to know as our life together. I will give you a little glimpse into our small window of time that was not chaotic, and then toss you into  our reality. We started dating on December 5th, 2005 and became an "official couple" a couple weeks later.  Christmas was approaching and  I hadn't met his family yet, minus one happy little encounter with his sister at Olive Garden ( Abby if you are reading this you know what I am talking about), so Aaron asked me to come over Christmas Eve and meet the Ellis's. I had plans to leave early the next day for Breckenridge to spend a couple of days playing in the snow and being a crazy 23 year old, but gave in and anxiously headed over to his house for a little family introduction.  When I walked in I was greeted by his younger brother Austin walking around in his boxers carrying a wine glass that he immediately handed over to me and filled it as full as he could.  I think he knew filling me full of wine was the only remedy for the situation I had found myself in.   Aaron then introduced me to his mom, who was very sweet, but very hesitant to trust this little blond girl her first born had brought into her house.  His dad was peeling a bag of oranges at the table, (to this day I really don't know why he was peeling a whole bag of oranges), and his sister and her fiancé were in the family room watching Home Alone ready to pounce on the fresh meat his brother decided worthy to meet the family.  It was a little awkward at first, as all first encounters tend to be, but soon relaxed when the idea of playing a little game called "Dirty Deuces" was thrown out, so we all sat down and put our game faces on.  Long story short, a couple of bottles of wine later (thanks Austin), calling out his mom when I beat her in the game, and dropping my phone in their toilet, I was now introduced to the family.  Christmas morning I woke up super early to try and avoid the "walk of shame" in front of his family (don't worry it was completely innocent I was just too many bottles of wine in to drive, so I slept over), but unfortunately those Ellis's are early Christmas morning risers. :/  After I got past my morning embarrassment I got my stuff together and headed to Breckenridge to have a little fun.  The first day I just spent relaxing and hanging out with friends, but the second day is where I found myself in a little bit of a pickle.  The day started with a little Mexican feast, and continued with bar hopping through Breckenridge right into Copper Mountain.  As it started to get dark, god only knows what the actual time was, I found myself in a vodka bar having a hell of a time.  Directly across from the bar was an outdoor ice skating rink, and what would any intoxicated person do after spotting that ice skating rink you ask?  That is right, recruit a couple of friends and walk their happy asses over and throw on some skates!  After a long battle with the laces on my skates my friend and I walked onto the ice with more confidence than a fat guy in a pie eating contest, ready to do a few triple axles or maybe a back flip or two! Unfortunately, that plan was shot down not even 30 seconds later as my friend started to fall pulling me down with him.  As I fell I felt this sharp pain in my leg, but it was immediately masked by the affects of vodka and bad assery. (Is that a word?) I tried to get up thinking I just tweaked my leg a bit, but as soon as I tried to stand I knew something was wrong.  My friends, being entirely too intoxicated to care, told me to suck it up and keep skating, but it just wasn't going to happen.  As I army crawled off the ice I now knew why they had me sign a waiver when I walked in the building.  It took some time, but I was eventually able to pull my skate off and see the baseball sized mass on the side of my ankle.  After evaluating my injury and making a feeble attempt at calling Aaron to tell him what I had done convincing him he did not need to drive up that night and get me, I forced on my boots and zombie walked my way back to the bar where the rest of the group was.  They took one look at my leg and decided the only remedy was pumping me full of more alcohol,  and then taking me back to the house and putting me to bed.  The next morning after I woke up from my drunken stupor I realized my mass had turned into what I could only imagine a cadaver leg would look like, black and blue rearing its ugly head up my leg that was now three times the size of the other. I knew I needed to get back to Littleton ASAP. Unfortunately, Colorado weather is so unpredictable and I was now stuck in Breckenridge due to a massive snow storm that had moved in over night rendering me unable to get to a hospital.  Two days and a dozen bags of frozen peas later, I was back in Littleton in the ER with Aaron.  I was convinced it was just sprained, but the doctor came back and I had a spiral fracture up my fibula.  I think I was in shock..... How was I going to manage the stairs at my house? Who was going to help me while I recovered? More important, How  would I pay my bills since I could not work for two months, I had a small break down as the doctor instructed me to roll over and bite the pillow so he could reposition my hanging limb.  But, this 25 year old guy who I had known for three weeks jumped up and said you are coming home with me and I will take care of you. He wasn't freaked out by the chaos, or the idea of taking care of this little girl he just met, he was ready to see this through with me.  I was a little hesitant due to the fact that he still lived with his parents and they barely knew me, but I took a leap of faith and from that day on he became my little candy striper (with a ton of help from his entire family). Over the next few weeks I spent my time on the couch in his parent's family room in a Vicodin haze watching old westerns with his dad, gaining a second little sister, and falling in love with this crazy guy who decided I was worth it.  From the very beginning Aaron and I's relationship was real. No pretending to be something we weren't to impress the other, no wineing and dining, just 100% reality no matter what that looked like because we had no choice. He saw me at my lowest, my ugliest, my whiniest, and never faltered.  Most guys would have ran for the hills, but Aaron was different. He held my hand through every doctor's appointment,  rushed me to the ER when they thought I had a blood clot in my leg, made sure I stayed up on my meds,  cooked my meals even if that meant ordering take-out, and pumped me full of laxatives when the codeine had taken its toll on my body.  Not many can say that a month into dating, their boyfriends carried them to the bathroom, sat outside of the door until they were done, and then carried them back to bed. Ain't nobody got time for that! It didn't take long for that Vicodin haze to wear off, and when it did I realized that I loved this person in such a different way than I have ever loved anything else in my life, and lucky for me he had the butterflies in his stomach too.  I eventually recovered, but I never left that metaphorical couch in the family room. I was in it for the long haul, and I knew that if we could get through this at the beginning of our relationship, we could conquer the tallest mountain.  At that point neither of us knew that this was only the beginning of our crazy roller coaster of a ride, but for now we were just  happy to be together, in the moment dealing with whatever came our way.