So, my week from hell is officially over.

Mr. Farce was discharged Monday, after battling back from the brink of kidney and liver failure, and a little thing called death, all since last Thursday. He actually had to go to work today, since the union is really concerned that his job is in jeopardy, and no one wants to risk angering the powers that be. The union has been amazing and supportive, but we're still worried. So he dragged himself up this morning, achy and tired, and drove in.

Poor Mr. Farce has always gotten cold sores (since childhood), and his face has blown up with them since his ordeal. I have never seen so many cold sores on a person, and he's so embarrassed. It is literally the least of his worries, but I understand his concern. They're the size of nickels and covering his softer facial tissues. He has a prescription for meds, but at this point, they're halfway through their blow up and heal process, so it's a bit moot.

Ultimately, the doctors think a confluence of unfortunate circumstances came together on Thursday to try to kill my intended. He had been pushing himself physically all week, and sweated loads Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. While he hydrates well, the suspicion is he lost so much fluid, he was unable to replenish. Then, on Thursday, their workout was longer and more rigorous than previous workouts, and the Mister was determined ot prove his dedication. As a result he pushed his body so hard that it started to destroy his muscles, sending loads of muscle-bound toxins to his kidneys and shutting them down. By the time he collapsed, major organs were already starting to fail.

We are so, so lucky he was able to get world-class treatment immediately. He had so many IVs hooked to him, he looked like an octopus. And he's recovered so far like a champ. It's borderline miraculous; no one, not even his doctors, thought he'd be out of the hospital within a week, never mind within five days.

I'm exhausted and oddly calm. People kept bugging me to eat, which I dislike on a regular basis, never mind when I'm trying to sort major life things out, and as a result I have gained six fucking pounds, because I ate just to shut them up. Apparently, when folks can't help the person who is actually in crisis, they force food on everyone else around him or her. "I don't know what to do, so here's some pizza/brownies/cake/meatballs." I appreciate the intention, but now my clothes don't fit. Our fridge is chock full of shit, and I'm tempted just to bin it all. Both of us need to eat as healthfully as possible these days.

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I'm working lightly from home today, as I'm loopy from lack of sleep and I want to be able to help Mr. Farce get home from work if I have to. He was told to stay in AC today, and will likely be allowed to sit in the yard during physical training and drills tomorrow. We have to be secretive and essentially lie to his bosses about his recuperation, even while the union heads knows the reality of his recovery. It's a dangerous line to walk, as we don't want to push him too far physically, but our well being - and his emotional health - are very closely linked to this job. We wait with bated breath.

I haven't done laundry in a week, and since I was gone almost the whole weekend, only stopping in to attempt to sleep at night, one of the cats pissed in our laundry pile in our closet. It's my fault for not cleaning their boxes, but DAMN IT CATS, I HAVE ENOUGH TO DO.

Yesterday, we hosted an open house of sorts for family and friends who didn't visit him in the hospital. It was nice, and he was happy, but I had to shoo them all away so he could get to sleep at 8. I've finally realized why my soon-to-be sister-in-law has loathed Mr. Farce's mother all these years - the woman is a selfish idiot with no regard for others. At our open house, she kept asking Mr. Farce what was wrong with his face, when she's had cold sores her whole life and is the reason he has them. After explaining that they were cold sores, she still pestered him about it in front of our (much more tactful) friends. I wanted to throw her out a window. Then again, I've had an awful lot of his family lately and maybe I just need space (like ten or twenty years).

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The gravity of what occurred really hasn't hit home yet. I'm waiting for the hammer to fall and break down a bit, but for now, we're too preoccupied with the business of putting things in order to worry too much about that yet. We have w worker's compensation claim in and are on tenterhooks about his job. Until we know more, we just need to go on living.

I need to focus and do some work, but all I want is a cup of tea and a nap.

Thank you all for your support and well-wishes. They have been truly appreciated.