Image by Kowit Phothisan

To My Husband

    from Mrs. Chronically Asleep I know you think I can’t see or hear anything once I’ve passed out on the bed. For the most part you’re right. But when you get up and move the sheets around, it does make some noise… even through earplugs. There are some things that someone who is oversensitized due to lack of sleep can’t help but notice. Like the way you whisper to the dog to try get her to scoot out from under the covers without waking me up. It doesn’t work, but it’s adorable. Or how you climb into the closet in the dark and shut the door almost all the way and then turn the light on, to keep the room dark. I also love that you’ll leave the door open so that the dog can get back in later, because you know that otherwise I’ll wake up by myself. And I love the food shrines that you build next to me when you know I’ve had a hard few days and won’t be fending for myself well. It’s always nice to wake up to a small mountain of food on the nightstand. Everyone expresses love differently, right? I love that when I’ve blacked out the room because I have a migraine, you tell our nieces (and the dog) that they’re not allowed to talk. And that you’ll rub my feet and bring me ice packs and deal with my crabbiness, because you know it’s not your fault. You remind me that I still need to drink, if I won’t eat, and you offer to threaten any doctors within a five mile radius into getting me whatever I need. I really love that when my pain gets really bad and I can’t do much, you’ll sit right down on the couch with me and Netflix until 2 in the morning, and not tell me that I’m wasting my life, or that I should be exercising, or “at least it’s not as bad as…” You’re basically the best. I just don’t tell you enough. So… you’re the best. Love, Mrs. Chronically Asleep. ---------------------------------------- I have to make a post-script note here over three years later, that though I've only gotten worse, health wise, and thus my demands on Tim's time and mental and physical energy have only worsened, he has only gotten better. I mean, we both have bad days, obviously. But he's wonderful to me. As we speak he's making me a late night cocoa/Dandelion tea latte. They're a favorite evening treat, and he does it for me all the time now because getting up and down is tough for me in the late hours. (My feet and ankles swell and lose circulation more than at other hours which translates to faster fainting spells.) My new POTS stuff hasn't been a fun learning curve for either of us. But Tim has been infinitely patient, or at least done a great imitation of it. He helps make sure I'm settled, fluffs pillows, and rubs my aching and pins-and-needly feet. Really, you wish you were me (except you really, really don't). I love him endlessly. I just need to read this when I'm ticked at him for some silly thing or other.
To My Husband


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