When Mighty Marc signed on for a relationship with me, neither of us had any idea how often he would be called upon to face the worse part of For Better and For Worse, and In Sickness and in Health. We were only married a short while when a back problem that had mildly plagued me during our courtship, began to interfere with our lifestyle. The doctor diagnosed me as having B.B.B, medical jargon for Badly Beat-up Back.
The bad news was that I had painful arthritis, stenosis, herniated discs and slight scoliosis. The good news was my family now knew I was not a hypochondriac.
Then I tore my Achilles heel, had respiratory problems, two bouts with sciatica, and two with diverticulosis. In January 2009 my right knee was replaced, and two years later, a couple weeks ago, my left knee was replaced.
Through all of this Mighty Marc never complained about his role as nursemaid. But I felt terrible. He had been caregiver to his former wife for nearly ten years before she succumbed to Alzheimer’s. Surely, he had earned the right to an easy second time around.
Every time I’m out of commission he does laundry, washes floors, vacuums, polishes furniture and prepares gourmet meals that frequently include printed menus with colorful scenes of foreign countries. He brings me hot tea, surprises me with chocolate, rubs my feet, kisses me and tells me I’m beautiful. (One thing good about being part of a senior-aged couple is my looks and his eyesight are fading at about the same speed.)
He hasn’t even noticed that since my return from the hospital, my unruly hair might best be described as homeless-chic. My roots are so long I look like I’m wearing a gray yarmulke, and barrettes are holding back my untweezed brows.
Mighty Marc chauffeurs me to physical therapy and post surgical blood work five days a week and says he’s happy to do it for me.
I make a point of showing appreciation.
As it happens, I am not as nice as my husband. I used to be. Honest. But that changed when I discovered what a monstrous patient he is. When he’s sick his sweetness and goodness are replaced with irritability, impatience, whining, and short temper. This normally angelic, selfless man wants instant relief and hates that he cannot control the speed of his recovery. He rejects every nice thing I attempt to do for him, so I’ve learned to avoid him. No foot rubs. No hot cups of coffee. No special meals. Instead, I cautiously slip my arm through his slightly opened door, toss in a slab of raw meat then slam the door shut.
Friends tell me their husbands are also petulant brats when they’re ill. Men believe their blister, their splinter, their paper cut, their hangnail, their cold, is far worse than anyone else has ever experienced.
Mighty Marc was driving 75 miles an hour when he leaned toward me and pointed to his neck.
“What do you see there?”
I moved close and squinted. “Nothing.”
“It can’t be nothing. Put on your glasses.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Look harder. I’m sure there’s a sizeable lump, and it’s bleeding.”
“Nope. Nothing’s there.”
“When we get home I’ll need Neosporin and a bandage.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
My friend, Patty, says when her good natured husband is sick he goes from Hero to Zero in no time flat. I think the Jekyll/Hyde syndrome has to do with men’s belief that they’re supposed to be macho, and they only feel justified showing weakness when they’re sick. I’ve also heard that men act like babies because they want their wives to coddle them like their mothers did. I don’t buy that. Mothers also showered love on their daughters when they were sick but they didn’t turn into Cruella Deville.
Women are accustomed to pain and discomfort, starting with menstruation and on through labor and childbirth. When a woman feels sick, it rarely interferes with her lifestyle. She prepares dinner, does laundry, takes a few minutes off to throw up, then she car pools.
It’s what her mother and grandmother did.
I think poet Maya Angelou must have had a man in mind when she wrote “I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one.”
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