When Your Husband is Injured: An Ode to Florence Nightingale, Everyday Women and Overdue Ephiphanies

So the Hubby and I have been trying to embrace a healthier lifestyle.  What that's equated to thus far is a lot of green smoothies, no fast food, healthy home-cooked meals and daily exercise.  Two weeks into the new year and we were feeling pretty good about things.  Our favorite healthy activity has included our daily walks and runs at Kakaako Waterfront Park. What's not to love there? I mean besides the cat colony and tents. There's big green hills, great walking and bike paths, stunning ocean views and gorgeous sunsets. I walk Snoop while Hubby runs the hills and we all get some fresh air.

A couple of days ago, we're following our routine and I'm walking to meet him on the hill he likes to workout on. I don't see him anywhere and as I'm looking, he calls me up. "I'm behind you, hon, I injured myself."  Worried, I find him and he proceeds to tell me that as he was sprinting up a hill for the fourth time, he heard a loud "pop" in his left calf, felt immediate pain and had to sit down. He tried to walk it off but it was really sore. Images of torn tendons fill my head and I try to assist him as he limps toward the van. "I got this," he says, brushing off my attempts to help him walk. Macho.

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. ;)

Thanks, Mom

On this day of the year, we make a collective effort, as a society, to be mindful of the people, circumstances and things in our lives that we are grateful for.  Despite the varying view points surrounding the actual origin of this particular American tradition in regards to its Native inhabitants, I think that the focus on expressing and feeling gratitude is a beautiful thing and one that is often neglected in our hectic daily lives.

As with most women, the holidays are often a mark of a season of "busyness". There are menus and dishes to prepare, sentiments and gifts to share, lists to make, people to get to, houses to clean and, inevitably, pounds to shed at the start of the new year.  My hubby and I have tried to pare down the craziness this year by keeping things simple and focusing on improving something in our home as a family. We decided to spend the last couple days moving my son into my mom's old room.  It is bigger, cooler and, since her passing four years ago, has remained somewhat in limbo.  This project entailed cleaning, moving, purging (my favorite), and decorating his 'big boy' room and bathroom.

We ended the day with preparing the majority of the food for today's Thanksgiving meal.  Hubby made the ham (that's our family tradition, we don't have the turkey thing down), the potato salad, the rice and I made the stuffing (Stove Top), the gravy (just add water), salad (a new recipe I tried with pecans, goat cheese and cranraisins), and my famous once-a-year (because it takes way too long and is expensive to make) banana cream delite.  After a morning at the annual Turkey Bowl touch football game for the boys and watching some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade for me and Snoop, our little trio sat to a quick, simple and delicious collaboratively prepared meal, which we shared with mom, dad and uncle, as well, before they went off to visit family.

As I sat at the table, my mind couldn't help but to recall Thanksgivings past-memories filled with family, good times and lots of food, all prepared by our mom, of course.  When my dad passed away I was six years old and my mom was left to be the sole provider and parent for six children, ranging from ages 4-19. And yet, not a birthday or holiday went by without gifts, decorations, thoughtful touches and a table laden with homemade delicacies.  Mom worked grueling hours at the Juvenile Detention Facility and, never having learned how to drive, caught the bus to and from work each day, sometimes after 16-hour shifts.  Still, every fourth Thursday of November, we awoke to the smells of turkey and homemade stuffing in the oven wafting down the halls and stairs of our two-story Kalihi home.  The gravy was homemade, the pies and crust were lovingly prepared by her hands and the table was set with the best serving dishes. All for us, her little family, and prepared all by herself.  With the exception of my oldest sister, who was her helper, and my second oldest, who was off at college or on a mission, the four youngest were, how to say it best-spoiled? Lazy, maybe? Yes, I admit and accept it (sorry for calling out my other three siblings on this, but you know it's true, lol)!  Mom never complained and never yelled at us (although she should have) to help cook, or even set the table or clean up afterwards. She just wanted to see us happy, fed and content. And that we always were.

And so today, as I lifted fork to mouth, I turned to hubby and said, "You know, I can't imagine that mom did this alone for years on end, making things from scratch and doing all the hard work without complaint." I felt her spirit with me and I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and humility for being raised by a woman who emulated the true spirit of motherhood, sacrifice and love.  We all do the best we can with what we know, and I can only hope to pass on to my son some of the lessons that my mom passed on to me.  I'm not sure I'll ever conduct myself with the grace and absolute selflessness that my mom embodied, but I can certainly strive to do so.  With all I am and all I have, I want to say "thank you, mom"-today and everyday. I love you.