Saturday April 7: Health Activist Choice! Write about what you want today. (I think I can manage this one!)
Day 7- Good morning! I did it! I survived “Week 1” without veering too far off course…*grin* (There’s a first!)
(I was gonna save this for tomorrow’s prompt, but it’s the only thing that keeps popping into my head.) Last night the hubby and I had an “eye-opening” conversation…one that hit me so far outta left field I was actually SPEECHLESS! (And that’s about as rare as it gets!)
Our “kids” still living at home are 18 (19 next week) and 17. We started young, so we’re 40 and 41…in the prime of our lives! Right? This is the dawn of our years together, to live out our dreams of “someday,” run amuck and generally wreak havoc sans children. These are the years that one of the kids should be getting the 3:00 AM phone calls from US to “bail us out,” “pick us up,” or to remind us why egging houses is a BAD idea! Instead…our “dates” consist of sitting in hospital waiting rooms, driving hours each way to get to Doc appointments, and making trips to the pharmacy.
He’s angry because my body acts more like that of an 80 year old. My muscles are weak, I tire easily, and I can’t ride in a car long distances without pain. (LOTS of pain!) He’s angry because he’s terrified the Docs aren't looking hard enough or fast enough to catch everything going on and there could be seriously evil gremlins eating away at my vital organs. (OK, the “gremlins” part was mine…) He’s angry because there’s NOTHING he can do. And it's simply not fair!
That’s when the Mac Truck of recollection drove through one of the holes in my swiss-cheese memory. I don’t know how many places I’ve read that, when you’re chronically ill, there are three “people” in your relationship…you, you’re significant other, and Bob (or one of hismany bros.) And Bob is NOT good at communication…or sharing…(or picking his underwear up off the floor…)
So we talked. (Which actually means I talked and after about half an hour, his eyes glazed over.) I promised him we still had “our” time, our dreams, and our nights of running from the law ahead of us. We’d still go to Ireland, even if I spent the plane ride lying in an aisle so my body wouldn’t implode in pain…even if I spent the trip in an all-terrain wheelchair. Even if I just did shots of apple juice and pretended it was amazing Irish whiskey…Our dreams weren’t “dead,” they just needed tweaking.
|Me and my sweetie 11 years|
ago, just a few weeks before
Anyway, the moral of the story is…we talked, we laughed, I cried…then almost fell off the couch. But we TALKED. And we'll keep talking (because I am SO annoying like that), doing what we can to keep our relationship strong...keep it the rock is has to be to weather the storm of chronic illness. And we'll keep tweaking our dreams, adding or subtracting as needed to keep them alive and attainable!
May your Saturday (and everyday) be filled with communication with your significant other. And may you find LOTS of CREATIVE and FUN ways to re-vamp your dreams…and come up with new ones!