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tales of something simple - back from the brink of death

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

back from the brink of death

In the words of my husband, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick.”

My body has tortured me in every way, shape and form for the past 6 days, and my immune system has had it’s ass kicked.  On many occasions I have sworn that I would either be hospitalized or institutionalized by weeks end.  Between the enjoyment of my throat feeling as though I’ve swallowed burning shards of glass (the doctor said, how does your throat feel?  My response, “Like it’s bleeding from the inside.”), a fever, the sweats and chills, relentless snot (and then lack thereof and the inability to breathe), and yes, even vomiting, it’s been a fun ride.  And let’s not forget the deafness in my right ear for 24 hours–that was cool.  I think what Brian learned this week, and what was only reinforced for me is, I don’t do sick.  I am not a fun sick person.  I realize most people aren’t, but I’m pretty bad.  As Brian says, I’m dramatic.  I completely disagree with this statement.  I just tell it like it is, at exactly the time I feel it.  For some examples…

“I’m going to work honey.  What  are you going to do today?”  My response: “I am going to overdose on Tylenol and hope I don’t suffocate in my sleep because I can’t breathe out my nose.”

“How are you feeling?” My response: “Alright.  [Pause] Meaning, I feel like I’m dying and would like you to put me out of my misery.”

“Can I get you anything?”  My response: “Yes.  A gun.  Please shoot me.”

Though, the man of one liners, did shut me up pretty quickly when he responded at one point with “Try taking how you feel and multiplying it by ten and that’s how withdrawing from Oxycontin feels.”  I couldn’t really top that.

I think I topped it all when he couldn’t find our debit card this morning and I had a “you’re going to shit yourself after I’m done glaring at you” moment.  Lucky for us both, I found it in the pharmacy bag in the midst of yesterday’s trash which was already taken out.  His balls are still intact.

My next favorite was trying to find new over the counter medicine at Rite Aid when my much loved Alka Seltzer Mucas and Congestion failed me miserably.  I literally stood there, rows and rows of colorful boxes staring at me with all kinds of persuasive subtitles, none of which included “I’m fucked if I don’t go back to work tomorrow” as a symptom.  Even better was when the doctor told me the very next day that nothing I had bought would help.

The best part of this week, which was probably the worst for my husband, was how well he took care of me.  Poor thing made me soup, did all the dishes (the MOUNTAINS of them), listened to my complaining, nose blowing, sniffling and yes, even my retching (I made it to the bathroom every time but today…).  He cleaned up after me, took me to my doctor’s appointments, tried to unclog my deaf ear, did wash, made food (even when I only threw it up), took care of the dogs, ran errands, and even woke me up one morning with a kiss and said “I’m going to get you breakfast.  What do you want?”  Poor thing came back with the biggest iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts when I assumed he’d know I wanted it hot.  He looked so defeated when he asked if it was how I wanted it and I told him no, but it was still good.  Had I known he would look so disappointed I would have lied and told him yes.

He is such a good man.  I am so disgusting and nasty and have not lifted a finger this week and he did nothing but let me be, encourage me to sleep, fill prescriptions and smile.

I ask him, “Can I marry you?”

Oh, wait.  Did that already.

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