No June Cleaver, I. Yes, I’m certain you’re all shocked by that little disclosure.Seriously though. It’s one thing to be, in healthy, good times, a fun, companionable presence, an intelligent and amusing conversationalist and a primo sack mate. It's quite another to be an A+ supportive helpmate when the chips are down.
So then, am I a good wife? Am I worth an exceptionally good goddamn as The Amazing Bob’s life partner?
I sure as fuck hope so but I’m filled with doubt. As y’all know, we’re in the midst of a nasty ass, rough patch. There’s the two different types of cancer to battle, the inconveniently dicky ticker, the ongoing, unrelenting back pain from a crushed disc in his spine. All this and we’re 24/7 blizzarding. There’s no getting outside to enjoy the beauty, the calming peace of the sea.In an effort to lessen the load, I’ve taken over all the housecleaning, bill paying and general home upkeep. I’m doing all the cooking now too which, by the by, is a huge motherfucking challenge for me. In case you’ve missed this, cooking is not one of my superpowers.
Meds are in my domain now too. I line em up and dispense—you can set your watch by me. When we’re at the doc’s, I make sure they understand that I MUST be fully informed. All instructions and info need to be communicated with me in a way I can understand. Even if there’s a ‘terp present, I want notes to take home so that I may read and reread.
Yes, I've gone all Al Haig here.
I’m afraid that my beloved TAB will feel that I’m treating him like a child or that I think he’s gone all feeby brained. I don’t want to put him off his angel cake with all my Amazonian mothering/wife-ing/caregiving.
We’ve talked about this. Of course we have. In the beginning he was a bit bristle-y but he understood—particularly after I reminded him of all he did for me after the surgery which left me half blind (for 6 months), unable to walk without assistance (for 2 months), fully deaf and rockin’ some interesting facial paralysis. I felt 69 steps lower than useless. I was a wretched burden and contemplated suicide. TAB (and Jen and Oni) were there for me every step of the way. They got me through it all.
We all need help at times. None of us are magnificently robust or invincible.
Sometimes I make decisions that TAB’s not so keen on such as:
- You’re having some lovely wild caught, baked salmon for dinner NOT a cheeseburger.
- Time for exercise—we’re going to take a walk down to the seawall and back.
- I’m having Jen call 911 NOW and, yes, we’ll likely end up in the hospital for a few days again.
Payback’s a bitch, baby. This time I’m steering the boat and, just like when the tables were turned, we WILL get through this.
No comments:
Post a Comment