In the nearly ten years that my husband and I have been together, I've been fortunate enough that he's never seen me sick enough that he's needed to take care of me. That is, until a few days ago. Generally, I get the sniffles and I'm a little weak, but I carry on and go about my business anyway, feeling miserable the whole time. On the flip side, when it's him that has the sniffles, it seems like the end of the world. On more than one occasion I've tried to prove how obnoxious it is by ignoring his complaints and forcing him to do things for himself, as I have to do when I'm sick. Being sympathetic is not something I've ever been accused of. However, a few days ago, he finally had his chance to show me what he's made of. To say that I've underestimated him throughout our entire relationship would be an understatement.
I woke up at 4:00 Wednesday morning sweating so heavily that I feared I would pass out. I had severe stomach pains and knew I was going to throw up. Thinking and hoping it was going to be a one time thing (I have acid reflux, this wouldn't be the first time), I quickly did what I needed to do, brushed my teeth and got back into bed. Twenty minutes later, I was back on the bathroom floor, bowing down to the porcelain god. I tried hard not to wake him, as he needed to be up in less than an hour for work, but he heard me anyway (horrors!). I remember hearing "are you okay?" and weakly responding "I don't know," before seeing him enter the bathroom. I told him I tried not to wake him and he said he wasn't sure what he was hearing at first. It seemed only minutes later that his alarm clock went off the first time and I said "why don't you turn it off, since you're awake anyway?" "I might be going back to sleep!" Yeah right! He was up now, and he was wonderful. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and rubbed my back while I heaved into the toilet bowl, sobbing and telling him I wanted to go to the hospital (it was my turn to be dramatic). I was shivering uncontrollably and he ran downstairs to turn the heat back on and brought me the warmest blanket in the house. He wrapped it around me, rubbing my arms to calm my shaking body and I yelled "turn it off!!!!" as his alarm sounded for the second time. "Okay! This time I will!" As he came back into the bathroom, I could tell that his stomach wasn't quite settled either. I am eternally grateful to the architect that designed this house with two bathrooms, as they were surely needed at that moment. As he used the bathroom downstairs, he came back into our upstairs bathroom, trying to convince me to go to bed as he found me lying on the bathroom floor curled in the fetal position. "Laying down makes it worse!" I cried, as my dinner revisited me for the third (or fourth) time. He decided he was going to attempt to go into work, assuming he'd just be in the bathroom a lot and he made sure I was tucked into bed with some Gatorade and a trashcan nearby before he left. It couldn't have been twenty minutes later before he returned after pulling off the road twice with the same fate I had been dealt. Fantastic. We were both sick! Now, who was going to take care of us?
Knowing how awful he was feeling himself, I was glad to have him lying in bed next to me that day, as he rubbed my back every time I leaned over the side of the bed releasing the demon that infected both of our bodies. It was obvious early on that he wasn't nearly as sick as I was and he was out of bed hours before me. After several hours of sleep (well into the afternoon), I crawled downstairs to attempt to make something to eat, hoping it would make me feel better, but never made it farther than the couch. I fell asleep for an additional two hours before his calls for me woke me again. I heard him get in the shower, jealous of the fact that he felt strong enough to do so. What I wouldn't give to believe my legs would support me long enough. After the longest shower in the history of the world, he came downstairs, forced me to drink some water and made us both some chicken noodle soup. He poured himself a tiny bit from the larger bowl that he gave me and didn't complain when I didn't finish it. I then watched as he took out the trash and emptied the trash can that I had been throwing up in for most of the day. I was amazed at how well he took care of everything without question, without prodding and without complaint. I can't honestly say I would have been able to empty that trash can (and hose it out!) without losing my lunch again. I distinctly remember saying to him as he carried it down our two flights of stairs "you'll make a great daddy someday," something, I'll admit, I'm not always sure of. He responded with "thank you" and continued on his business. And later that night, after I had finally managed to shower and dress, I mentioned that we needed to clean up the tea and the toast that neither one of us had finished from earlier in the morning. He told me that he had already taken care of it. I can't remember him ever doing something without first being asked. And maybe my mistake was always that I wasn't sick "enough" for him to show how well he could take care of me. Or, maybe the problem was that we just were never home together on days when I really needed to be taken care of. Who knows? But, what I know is that on this particular day, I felt more miserable than I've ever felt in my life and I knew that he wasn't feeling so peachy either and he rose above it all and showered me with "are you okays?" and "how are you feelings?" He was exactly the man I needed him to be and 100% the man I wasn't sure he could be. And not that there was ever any feelings of insecurity, but I now know that I am unbelievably safe with him and I will never again underestimate his potential to provide and protect. I know that someday, our children will have someone (besides me) to sit by the side of their bed when they're feeling sick and someone who will clean up their messes without question, someone who will put his own feelings aside for the well being of those more important than himself. This is the man I married, "in sickness and in health" and I will no longer wonder if he's capable of that first part. While it's difficult to admit one's own faults, this was definitely one of my own, and it's unfortunate that it took something like this to make me realize it. But, in a way, I'm glad it happened. Sometimes it takes something bad to make you truly realize the good. And my husband...he's "the good."
