Of course, Mr. Man refuses to go to the hospital, so I urge him to seek 'medical advice' via the internet and he reads the acronym, "R.I.C.E."-Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevate. So RICE it is-at home, I grab the ice bag, some pillows for his leg and situate my 'patient' on the couch. He waives off my offers of pain killers and insists that it's not a big deal. As the evening progresses, so does the pain and we know it won't just go away. "I'm taking you to the doctor tomorrow!", I insist. I will do it even if I have to drag his prideful self there.
The next morning finds me up way before my normal awake time because now I have to be the chauffeur, not only to my son (who Hubby usually takes to school) but Hubby's client, who needs a ride from Kalihi all the way to Mililani by 8am! Geez. I call in sick to work, shuttle my child and Hubby's client to their destinations, take my in-laws to their doctor's appointments and return home to take care of my invalid partner. I proceed to clean the dishes, make lunch, do laundry and prep for dinner. Then I'm off to pick up my in-laws, work out at the gym, pick up the client in Mililani, pick up my son and take Hubby to the orthopedic specialist.
Doc takes a look at it and thank goodness it's not an Achilles injury (whew!), but it is a torn calf muscle and he'll need therapy (serious?!?) and lots of rest. He's using crutches now (incidentally, the crutches in the storehouse that he was emphatic about tossing out not a month ago, to which I replied, "What if we need it one day?" and he asked, "Who's gonna use it?". Gee, I really hate to have been right on this point. After the doctor's, I drive to Costco (did I mention that I don't really like driving very much?), go shopping by myself, load up the groceries in the car alone (although Hubby did try to assist), and carried them into the house (again, he tried to help and dropped the almond milk and almost tumbled down the stairs). "Don't try to help when you're lame!", I exclaim. I put them away and started dinner while helping Sonny with homework and checking on my patient. I get the feeling that Hubby is enjoying this energetic, attentive and domesticated version of his wife.
During the course of the evening, I had to keep catching myself every time I wanted to yell out, "Hon, can you bring in the clothes in from the dryer?", "Hon, can you take Snoop out to go bathroom?". Of course, I called on my son to do those things, instead, but I digress. Then it hit me, and I said to myself, "Delia, your Hubby does A LOT around here everyday!". Because of his flexible work schedule, he takes my son and in-laws around and me to work, he does the shopping while I text him a list of what I need from the store. He makes dinner almost every night and usually cleans and does laundry during the day. And he drives EVERYWHERE. Wow, it sucked to do everything myself. I mean, this Nurse Nightingale and Domestic Goddess thing was wearing on my nerves. Don't get me wrong, I work and do my share of cleaning and laundry and help my son with homework but there's a ton of stuff my Hubby does that I guess I take for granted.
I explained this epiphany to my bestie over the phone and I asked, "Is this typical of most men?" or, dare I say it, "Am I spoiled?". Her reply: "Uh, no this is NOT typical and yes, you are spoiled. Let me just say that what you described is typical of what most WOMEN do every day, at least all the women I know. You are VERY lucky."
How could I be so blind? I mean, I knew my Hubby rocked in the domestic skills department but I didn't think what he did was atypical, don't all husbands and partners do this for their wives-shouldn't they? Apparently not. It took my Hubby getting injured for me to realize this and I felt both grateful and guilty at the same time. Maybe I should do more? After 21 years, surely this man knew and understand who he had married and committed to as his eternal companion and accepted me, right?
As I tucked him into bed and checked that he had water beside him and his blankets and pillows in place, he thanked me for taking care of him and being his nurse, to which I smiled and in my typical, automatic, wise-crack, thats-so-Delia fashion I responded, "Sure thing, just don't make this getting injured thing a habit!" Hubby cracks up laughing and as I turn to leave the room, I thank God that my Hubby gets me, really gets me, and likes me anyway.
Get well soon, my love. . .the floor needs mopping. ;)