My Valentine

Saturday was Valentine's Day, and I didn't get roses or chocolates or diamond earrings. What I did get was a husband who took me to the urgent care center while I hacked and wheezed. Not once did he whine or complain about the long wait, the fact that I didn't give in to his early morning suggestion that I see a doctor until lunchtime, or the fact that the pharmacist took a long time to get my drugs together. Personally, I'm not sure I could have been as patient about the lack of food for so long had I been in his shoes. I would have meant to be patient, but I probably would have whined anyway. Then he brought me home and waited on me hand and foot while I laid on the couch, sleeping and reading Steven King*. He brought me glass after glass of water, and even went to the store to buy orange juice and salt and vinegar potato chips.** And not once did he act like I was being a pain-in-the-Ay-double-Ess.***

Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetie. You're what it's all about.


*I don't know what it is about being sick that makes me want to read his books, but I worked my way through The Shining, The Stand, and The Dead Zone.

**Another thing that I can't get enough of when I'm sick.

***Which I probably was, even if I didn't mean to be.