Month Nine

Dear Husband,
We have made it through nine months. Not sailed through or otherwise uneventfully spent in each other’s company, but rather we have both survived being married to each other and all that life has chosen to throw at us. Not yet a whole year I’ll grant you but now three quarters thereof. Seems such a small milestone for all that we have been though although I am sure that if we had gotten pregnant on the wedding night, we two could now be three and we’d be thinking that was a pretty damn huge achievement for 9 months all by itself. We didn’t as it happens which in hindsight perhaps saved us a lot of additional stress we didn’t need at this point in our marriage. Of course, just about everything that has happened so far would therefore have happened to us anyway I imagine, regardless of whether we were married or not but still, it does seem that now your lot is officially thrown in with mine, everything affects us both.
Like you being in hospital. I spoke too soon last month when I commented that you had been to hospital as you then went in a second and third time as a result of not healing sufficiently from your initial visit. Despite the fact that on the last time there were no further intrusive medical procedures (apart from putting you on a drip), this time was perhaps the worst. This time you were far more lucid on the whole and did not spend the majority of your days asleep. This time you could feel your stay drag out from day to day as you waited to learn if they’d finally let you go home. This time the frustration and depression seemed to build even as the pain ever so slowly decreased (which probably wasn’t helped by the amount of tv that seemed to be on repeat). This time you needed me to be there far more than I was able to manage. And for all that, especially the last part, I’m sorry.
You constantly thank me and compliment me but as wonderful as you erroneously seem to think I am sometimes, I am not good at being a companion for the sick. Not because I am over anxious or irritate with constant fussing, more the opposite really. I can easily sit by a bedside and read to myself (I knocked over two and a half books sitting in hospital rooms with you during the first couple of visits). I can also provide company for watching television and some conversation as I perhaps talk about my day. I feel somewhat inadequate and even inept however at cheering the sick and weary. I don’t know what to say when you’re scared the pain won’t go away or you miss being at home. I don’t know what to talk about when I run out of chatter to which you’d rather listen and not necessarily contribute. I don’t know how to entertain with an intriguing story that will lift the spirits on demand either. Beyond the platitudes of it’ll all work out and it’s only for a short time so that you’ll be well when you come home, every attempt I made to make you feel better seemed either lacking or lame. I would have loved to have been the visitor who can always make you laugh and forget where you are but I wasn’t.
I also felt guilty for the time I didn’t particularly want to spend at the hospital. It became my routine to leave the hospital late, drive home to make my lunch for the next day and then fall into bed. The next morning, I would drag myself out of bed, off to work, come home to shovel some food into my mouth (leftovers if I was lucky or yoghurt if I wasn’t) and drive over to the hospital where I would overstay visiting hours again, coming home late to make my lunch for the next day before falling into bed. I didn’t seem to have the time to cook, to clean, to wash, to shop for groceries or to relax. Those few hours in the evening were the only time I could spend with you so I went but it never felt like I was doing as much as I should for you and when I started to feel a bit burnt out, I wanted to do a bit less. It didn’t seem fair to complain however when I wasn’t the one laid up in a hospital bed in pain. But thankfully for both of us, that chapter has seemed to pass and you came home. You didn’t quite manage to follow the doctor’s orders to take it easy though and occasionally you are still biting off more than you can chew. Especially around the house. Which is not great in more ways than one.
I do hate to burst your bubble dear husband but once again I have noticed that you are not handy. Certainly, on occasion, you may be considered as being all hands but in regards to certain areas of home maintenance…not particularly handy. Some women marry guys who are great at fixing broken appliances (be they “broken” because they don’t actually work at all or because they could potentially work twice as fast or twice as effectively). Some women marry guys who get a kick out of something like rewiring all the lighting in the kitchen. Believe it or not, this is not why I married you. I have a funny feeling that you’d get more of a jolt than a kick if you tried to rewire anything on that scale. I married you, at least in part, because you enjoy connecting with me on an emotional level and you’re great to talk with about all sorts of things. I think I’m incredibly lucky that you don’t shy away from personal discussions and that you want to be a part of my life just as much as you want me to be a part of yours. Loads of women wish their husbands were more involved in their lives or their marriages but I think I’m pretty set on this count. I kind of wish however that sometimes, you wouldn’t try to “fix” things…
Call me overcautious but I do not think it is an intelligent idea to stick a piece of metal into a power cord that is still plugged into to the power socket. Let alone when that socket is actually turned on!! That is just plain dumb. Apparently though, I “knew” you were going to look at the laptop cable before you attempted to repair it so it was unreasonable on my part to be unhappy about the way you did it (not to mention the fact that the additional piece of metal you were poking into the end of the cable actually got stuck in there). Given the above however, I would argue that is it any wonder that sparks soon started to fly? Literally as well as figuratively? Apart from the possibility that you may have finally busted my laptop which I was none too pleased about, we only just got you home from the hospital for the third time. I don’t want to have to take you back there again because you electrocuted yourself! And I’ll tell you this for free, if we ever have kids that even attempt to do something like that, they’d better be very afraid they’re in for a walloping. You should just have known better.
Thankfully however, your confidence in all things technical and mechanical (which I tend to think is equal parts actual knowledge and pure blind faith that the right answer will come), does not extend to plumbing. We did have a rather exciting episode this month when the kids upstairs decided to have a long shower and as a result, the water that was draining out of their bathroom actually started to flood into ours. Up through the floor. Within a couple of minutes we had to have all the towels out on the bathroom tiles to stop it overflowing onto the hall carpet. This was clearly a job for the strata plumbers though so we managed to call someone in at about 7 at night to clear a blocked pipe and as far as I know, you just watched on and arranged access.
So now the question is whats next? Hopefully next month will bring a new job for you and if thats the case, maybe a clothes dryer too. Its the simple things in life…
Still Yours,
Your Loving Wife