It was 1 a.m. on a Sunday morning and I woke up in bed. Not unusual, I don’t sleep heavily – headlights, the full moon, my husband Dan snoring – all keep me from slumbering soundly through the night.
Reflected on the bedroom ceiling was light from the garage entrance to the house on the first floor. Dan was nowhere to be found. Had I missed some farm emergency? Animals out? Abandoned vehicle on the lawn? Fire? Thieves? Vandals? All have happened before.
I got out of bed and looked downstairs. The fireplace in the living room was working, so there was illumination enough to descend without flipping on the lights. At the bottom of the landing, a deep voice and movement in the dark scared the bejeebus out of me.
Dan was lying on the couch, telling me to go away, and that he had been sick to his stomach.
That was unexpected.
I turned the entrance light off, and heard a gruff command to turn it back on. I did so, and returned to my usual fitful slumber.
Around 4:00 a.m. I woke, looked into the blackness and asked if he wanted me to call his brother and tell him to do morning chores.
“No. I’ll be fine.” (Grumpier, and with conviction.)
Okaaayy. I get it. He doesn’t want help from anyone.
When Dan came in from morning chores he went directly to bed.
This incident has made me wary of the status of my own health. I’m usually the first, or the only one, to get whatever illness is passing through the community. Is the difference between us that I had the H1N1 flu nasal vaccine, instead of an injection?
It’s been a week since then, and he says food still feels like lead in his belly. He sleeps when he can during the day; it’s been about 10 years since he was this ill.
It hasn’t all been a wash. Just as I do when I’m laid up, Dan found ample time to think about projects that need doing around the house. But his priorities aren’t the ones that I have come up with.
Instead of renovating the master bath and bedroom, he’s talking about putting flooring in the spare rooms that we never use. Says it’s “unfinished business” messing with his “karma” that he needs to resolve. More likely it’s the house’s feng shui that is imbalanced, but I get the inference.
Today, we were working at the cheese plant; I took a drink from the only can of Diet Coke open – my Diet Coke - and found a dent in it.
Dan always dents his can so no one else will drink from it, but he didn’t have a soda of his own.
“Did you drink from my can?”
“No, I just moved it.”
I didn’t believe him. Do you?
If I get the flu, I know where to squarely place the blame, and he needs to be prepared. I’m a very needy patient.
