Strange Bedfellows

If you recall a few months ago, I blogged fantastic about my amazing shopping odyssey to redecorate our bedroom. It turned out beautifully. A neutral, relaxing haven of leisure and comfort.I haven't seen the inside of it since.
2008 has been The Year of the Couch.
Of my own volition, I was initially avoiding the bedroom at night because I didn't want to disturb my wife. For those of you who don't know by now, she's been through chemotherapy for the past six months and needed her rest. She also has a port in her chest where they administer medicine (kinda like an insulin pump) and I didn't want to flail in my sleep and hit it. But she's done with chemo, she's used to the port and it was time to slip back between the sheets to resume our marital normalcy.
Big mistake.
In the eight or so months I've been snoozing in the front room, she's become a literal nightmare to be asleep next to.Most men, when they act boorishly, end up relegated to the sofa, dispatched from their wives' affections. But now when I give her some sass or upset the domestic balance, she punishes me by making me sleep in the bed with her. Therefore I am usually on my best behavior.
Because she's a bed bully. A sleep saboteur. A blanket bandit and a pillow pillager. It's upsetting really, that someone so small could make for such a violent, combative tormenter during slumber. She'd tug and yank on the comforter until she'd be wrapped up like a cocooned mummy. Holding the dust ruffle ransom, she would leave me cold and shivering, desperately clinging to a small corner of fitted sheet for sweet warmth. A knee in the kidney, a forearm to the throat, an elbow in the nads - it was awful.
So fed up with the abuse, I've re-commandeered the sofa. A comfy, cozy couch where I can catch forty winks and rest in peace. The fridge is two steps away, the TV is within viewing distance and my threadbare childhood security blanket still has many moons left before retirement.
But I'd like to have my wife back.
Last week the bed actually broke. Now I can understand if a slat would crack or a metal bracket would come undone on my side of the bed. But it's supposed to be a sturdy frame, only a few years old, and solid oak at that. But the bed rail connecting the headboard to the footboard snapped in two. Now I have a good 75 pounds on her. BUT IT WAS HER SIDE OF THE BED! Now before you start making suggestive innuendo, keep in mind that my wife has been battling cancer for the past year and been understandably off-limits in that regard.
The most action that bed's seen in Double Aught Eight is the periodic mattress rotation.
In fact, it happened when we weren't at home. We came home, walked in the bedroom and found the entire thing collapsed in on itself.
I don't know if she's dreaming of destruction or having nocturnal night-terrors of annihilation, but something about sleeping triggers a night-time rampage within her that can only be mitigated by the dawn.
So I take matters into my own hands.
The couch it is.
I tuck her in, kiss her forehead and get the heck outta dodge. It's every man for himself up in here, my friend.
Someday I hope that our regular nighttime routine will resume. Of course, it’s probably no picnic for her either. Dutch ovens and thwarted advances are regular occurrences. However, even if she has completely annexed the master bathroom and walk-in closet, it'd be nice to enjoy the consortium and intimacy that comes with sharing a bedroom.
But the only way that's gonna happen anytime soon is with some kind of high-dose, large game tranquilizer and limb restraints. In the meantime...Sweet dreams.