Pancakes and painkillers

Well, I went into work this morning really early. Maybe not THAT early, but I've been unemployed for seven weeks; 8 am is early for me. I seem to be doing alright... If anything I at least have a better memory than the person who was training me. Waiting tables is like riding a bike to me. Once I know where the hell to find everything and learn the menu, I shine. Okay, so I haven't learned the menu so well yet so shining isn't going to be an immediate thing, but I'm very distracted now.

I got a call from the hubs while I was at work. He needed help changing the dressings on his wounds. Like I said before, considering the reason for our split, we have a pretty amicable working relationship. And as I also said, he doesn't have much of anyone else. The girlfriend who's a nursing student was at work, so in a pinch I guess I'd do. I can tell he doesn't like asking me for help, but what am I going to do? Not help? *Sigh* I don't hate him enough for that. However, I obviously didn't know what I was getting myself into.

I should've known when he was taking the gauze off to take a shower (he was told to keep the wounds clean with soap and water) that it wasn't going to be a good situation. He was breathing heavily and muttering obscenities the entire time. So when he went to get in the shower, I excused myself for a smoke. There was nothing in that moment I could do to make his pain better, so I felt it better for myself not to listen to the pain he'd be in. One cigarette was not enough. I came back in and he was all but screaming, worse than I've ever heard from him times 1000. It was worse even in the ER when they were cleaning him up. Very, very upsetting. Mostly because I knew there was nothing I could do to make it better, being the future ex-wife and all. It's not really in my job description to hold and comfort and fawn over him. Of course I feel absolutely awful for him and, in a way, want to be there for him, and if he wasn't seeing his chick I probably would be over there a lot more. I'm just slightly comforted by the fact that he's got SOMEONE to care for him.

Anyway, I did, in fact, go into "Nurse Manda" mode once he was done taking God's name in vain and calling everything a MFer. I'm sure I didn't do nearly as good a job as his girlfriend could've done fixing him up, but I watched pretty carefully when they did him up in the ER and I'm pretty sure I covered all the basics. Ah well, if she doesn't like it, she can always fix it. He was at least appropriately grateful for my help. That's all I ask. I'm pretty sure he'd do the same for me. As I said before, I may not live with him anymore, but I didn't completely stop caring for him the second I moved out. I don't know if it's necessarily the best thing to be helping him, but there's something to be said for the golden rule.