For the last two days, whenever something would come over the fax machine, I haven’t had to jump up to see what it was. I knew it was a junk fax, probably an investment tip or something to do with supplemental insurance. It wasn’t from the Boss, that’s for sure, because he’s been in the hospital.

He’s actually in worse shape than I thought when I first got the news about his fall Monday. It turns out he fell off a scaffold (where he shouldn’t have been) into a pile of debris, shattering his leg just above the ankle. A board fell on his head, giving him a concussion and nearly severing his ear (which was sewn back in place). He had pins put in the leg Monday night and will come home tomorrow, and then he goes back to the hospital for surgery in a week or so.

So far I haven’t been able to talk to him. All the news I get comes from Julie, and thank goodness she’s around to take care of him. He’s going to be a miserable patient, no doubt about that, but she’s as strong-willed as he is, and she’ll make the right decisions. She’s already re-tooling the new triple-wide trailer to accommodate him, since she knows he won’t be able to function in his old office, not with either crutches or a wheelchair in his immediate future.

Meanwhile, life goes on. My job, as I see it, is to keep things going as much as possible as if nothing had happened, and to let the Boss know that everything is under control. Everything isn’t under control, not by a long shot, but there’s no reason for the Boss to have to worry about things he can’t do anything about. With Julie’s help, we’ll bring him along slowly enough that we won’t add extra stress to his list of ailments. Heaven knows he puts enough stress on himself, almost as much as he spreads around to the rest of the world.