Listening to My Husband Snore

I am lying next to my husband, and for the first time in almost 24 hours, he's finally asleep.

I never thought the sound of someone snoring would bring me so much peace.

If you follow us on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook (@durstfamilychaos), you already know Anthony had surgery yesterday. If not, here's what has been going on.

Back in February, Anthony was in a car accident while he was working. A woman made a left turn right in front of him, and he T-boned her. He had the right of way, and thankfully there were several witnesses. Even so, she tried to blame him for the accident. In the end, she was ticketed, but the damage had already been done.

The airbags deployed, and almost immediately Anthony started complaining about pain in his arm and elbow. The X-rays didn't show any broken bones, so at first everyone thought it was just bruising and soft tissue injuries.

But the pain never went away.

Weeks later, they finally ordered an MRI.

That's when they discovered three pieces of bone had broken off inside his elbow, along with torn ligaments and tendon damage. The orthopedic surgeon told him he would eventually need surgery or he would likely deal with pain and limited function for the rest of his life.

If you know Anthony, you know he hates anything medical.

He decided he'd rather live with the pain than have surgery.

No matter how many times I told him it wasn't going to heal on its own, he was determined to just deal with it.

Then we went to Idaho to help our son, Devun, clean up his yard and house. After spending days working with his arm, Anthony finally realized just how much strength he'd lost. His elbow wasn't getting better—it was getting worse.

He finally called the surgeon.

The doctor managed to get him in just two days later and was actually surprised Anthony had waited so long.

Yesterday was surgery day.

Going into surgery, we knew they planned to remove the three loose bone fragments. What we didn't realize was how much more damage they would find once they got inside.

The surgeon removed the bone fragments, created small fractures in the bone to stimulate bleeding and encourage healing, and repaired more ligaments and tendons than they had originally expected.

Before surgery, Anthony declined the nerve block. He doesn't like medications or procedures, but he told the anesthesiologist that if they felt he truly needed it, they could go ahead.

I'm incredibly thankful they did.

Unfortunately, somewhere between 3:00 and 6:00 this morning—not even twenty-four hours after surgery—the nerve block completely wore off.

I've never seen him hurt like this.

He can't lie down because the pressure against the cast makes his elbow throb. Sitting hurts. Walking helps for a little while, but then his fingers start going numb.

Nothing seems comfortable.

The pain medication has been another adventure.

HEB had trouble filling the prescription, and we actually had to go into the pharmacy and prove that yes, Anthony really had surgery and yes, he really had been prescribed these medications.

After about thirty minutes, they finally filled it.

Then I realized the phone number printed on the prescription belonged to someone else. When I called the hospital, they helped us get in touch with our surgeon, it was a different number then on the pad.

At least that mystery was solved.

Since Anthony rarely takes pain medication, even half of a Narco makes him incredibly nauseated. The surgeon recommended alternating half a Narco with Motrin every few hours, and we're hoping that combination will control the pain without making him so sick.

About forty minutes ago, he took his first dose or Motrin

And now...

He's finally asleep.

I honestly can't describe the relief I feel listening to him snore beside me.

Earlier today, while we were waiting for the surgeon to return our call, we prayed together.

My husband has never cried because of physical pain.

This morning during prayer he did, tears just rolled down his face.

Not because he wanted sympathy.

Not because he was complaining.

Simply because it hurt that much.

As if one patient wasn't enough, our five-month-old Golden Retriever, Dallas, has been battling diarrhea ever since we got home from Idaho.

So today we ended up at the veterinarian.

Anthony insisted on coming with me, hoping it would take his mind off his elbow.

Instead, I just had two sick boys with me.

Dallas got several medications, all of his puppy shots, and hopefully we're on the road to getting him feeling better too.

Needless to say...

Sleep has been nonexistent.

Between taking Dallas outside every couple of hours, cleaning up accidents, making sure Anthony had water, medication, pillows, and whatever else he needed throughout the night, I'm running on fumes.

I even skipped my workout this morning.

If you know me, you know I almost never do that.

But after the 4:00 a.m. potty break with Dallas and Anthony's medication schedule, my body was exhausted. There was no way I was picking up weights today.

Sometimes your body tells you what it needs.

Mine needed rest.

It's 8:42 p.m. as I write this.

In about twenty minutes I'll leave to pick Sam up from work, take out the trash when I get home, and then hopefully crawl into bed for a few hours before we start this whole routine over again.

If you're reading this, I'd ask one small favor.

Please say a prayer for my boys.

Pray that Dallas starts feeling better.

Pray that Anthony's pain eases soon.

Pray for healing.

Because if I'm being honest, I'd much rather be the one with the broken elbow.

The hardest part about all of this is knowing it never should have happened.

Someone else's careless decision changed our lives in an instant.

Instead of driving a paid-off truck, we're making another $500 truck payment every month. Instead of spending our summer making memories, we're navigating surgeries, medications, recovery.

All because someone failed to yield.

Accidents happen every single day.

Some end with injuries.

Some end with lifelong disabilities.

Some end with families losing the people they love.

A vehicle isn't a toy.

It isn't something to use while distracted or in a hurry.

It's thousands of pounds of steel capable of changing someone's life forever.

Driving isn't a right.

It's a privilege.

Please... pay attention.

Someone else's family is counting on you to make it home safely.

I hope that in a few months, this will simply be another chapter in our family's story. Right now, though, we're taking it one hour at a time. Thank you to everyone who has checked in, prayed for us, or simply sent a message. We feel every bit of that love, and we're incredibly grateful.