Just Bother Me, Okay?
The Pirate is trying to Not Be A Bother, and he's driving me CRAZY.
Within hours of surgery I caught him in the kitchen, all hunched over, trying to refill his ice bag himself. I had to nearly carry him back to bed by force. In less than twenty-four hours, I've already been reduced to a bundle of quivering nerves, and there are nearly two weeks to go. I don't know if we're both going to survive this ordeal.
What, exactly, was unclear about the doctor's order that for the next two weeks you aren't to get off the couch except to go to the bathroom or to bed? Is there something not-quite-clear about the message you get from an incision that keeps opening and bleeding every time you get up? Why is it so hard to understand that it is a greater Bother for me to have to constantly monitor you in order to catch you before you re-injure yourself doing something that I could easily do for you, than it would be if you simply *asked* for what you need?
Get it through your head: you have never, nor will you ever, get points from me for being a Tough Guy. That is not why I married you.
And you have never been a convenience to me. Heaven knows it's bother enough to go around behind you picking up everything that you drop right where you lose interest in it, and you have been doing that for the last quarter of a century.
Now is your opportunity, so grab it. Enjoy your brief moment of glory, when it is appropriate to be one with the Lilies of the Field. How often are you going to get a chance to be Merely Decorative, without being resented?
Don't worry, it won't be long before I'm kicking your butt off the couch and demanding that you take the garbage out. For now, please just Bother me, okay?
Within hours of surgery I caught him in the kitchen, all hunched over, trying to refill his ice bag himself. I had to nearly carry him back to bed by force. In less than twenty-four hours, I've already been reduced to a bundle of quivering nerves, and there are nearly two weeks to go. I don't know if we're both going to survive this ordeal.
--------------------
Dear Light of my Life:
What, exactly, was unclear about the doctor's order that for the next two weeks you aren't to get off the couch except to go to the bathroom or to bed? Is there something not-quite-clear about the message you get from an incision that keeps opening and bleeding every time you get up? Why is it so hard to understand that it is a greater Bother for me to have to constantly monitor you in order to catch you before you re-injure yourself doing something that I could easily do for you, than it would be if you simply *asked* for what you need?
Get it through your head: you have never, nor will you ever, get points from me for being a Tough Guy. That is not why I married you.
And you have never been a convenience to me. Heaven knows it's bother enough to go around behind you picking up everything that you drop right where you lose interest in it, and you have been doing that for the last quarter of a century.
Now is your opportunity, so grab it. Enjoy your brief moment of glory, when it is appropriate to be one with the Lilies of the Field. How often are you going to get a chance to be Merely Decorative, without being resented?
Don't worry, it won't be long before I'm kicking your butt off the couch and demanding that you take the garbage out. For now, please just Bother me, okay?
posted by Eileen at 7:43 AM
9 Comments:
Now, are you going to read that to him? :)
Not unless I'm really feeling in desperate need of watching his eyes glaze over, or a nice round of 'Stop nagging me!'
;D
It's funny... When they're only a little sick they have to play it up and act all pitiful. But when they're really in pain and needing the bedrest you can't keep em' down. What gives? LOL Great letter. You really should read it to him.
Excellent observation! And what gives is that they are MEN.
IMO, there are two things that inevitably result in brain damage:
1. The act of giving birth.
2. Direct contact with a Y chromosome.
(this is possibly why mothers of male toddlers are particularly prone to bouts of gibbering insanity)
See, now if my husband had strict orders to stay in bed for two weeks, he'd stretch it to four and moan the entire time. ;)
If the Pirate has a *cold*, or a mild flu, he moans and whines and drags around as though he's dying. It's when he has a real problem that he goes all Macho Idiot on me...
:D
The lovely Chris sent me to your blog to read about the pirate. My husband is going to have a cornea transplant and I can understand the frustration of him being the "tough guy". I think you just have to keep hauling him back to bed and loving him.
Hopefully your husband's transplant will go well, and the recovery will be quick. The eye regenerates amazingly quickly - the Pirate had his eye patch off only a day or so after his cataract surgeries, and only had to wear it at night for a week or so - and the technology has gotten really good for eye procedures. (He had cataracts as well as his cornea issues, so he had those removed after the coreas were successfully dealt with)
With the eye things you just have to keep after you husband to follow the doctor's post-operative instructions *thoroughly*; the danger is that they feel better so quickly that it's easy for them to slip on the things like the meds, lid hygiene and remembering to wear dark glasses whenever they go out (don't let Mr. Pao give that one up too quickly - I know several people who did, and regretted it later).
Aw. *blush*
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