"All words are symbols that represent unspeakable realities. Which is also why words are magical." (Donald Miller tweet)

Monday, January 31, 2011

Spike, my hero

I have the best husband in the world.

Poor Spike came down with the flu on Thursday night.  He was partway along the path to recovery on Saturday night at 10:00 pm, when I stood up and said, "Wow ... I'm suddenly bushed ... my stomach hurts a bit ... I'm going to bed."

Since I was supposed to lead worship on Sunday morning (to cover for him, as he had the flu), and since I was also supposed to preach on Sunday morning, I confidently assumed that I would be fine.  I ignored the quiet alarm in Spike's eyes.  What does he know?  I am strong.  I am healthy.  I scoff at the flu.

At 10:43 pm, I bolted straight up in bed, an odd expression on my face.  Laid back down, mildly apprehensive.  At 10:44 pm, I realized I should have run for the bathroom at 10:43 pm.  I don't want to be too graphic, but let's face it - that's why you come here.  Let me just tell you that when a little body like mine decides to projectile vomit, there's no holding it in until you get to the appropriate receptacle.  And if you cover your mouth in an attempt to hold it in - well, it just hits the walls.  And the floor.  And possibly the piano.  And your own hair, causing you to ponder WHY on EARTH you decided to grow it out.  No one ever had a problem with barfing into a short haircut.  I'm just saying.

As I wrapped my arms around the porcelain throne, I heard my barely-recovering husband call, "Oh honey ... don't worry ... I got it."

And he did.  Cleaned everything.  Sympathized wholeheartedly.  Set me up on the couch with gingerale, Tylenol and cool facecloths.  Sat with me until I drifted (albeit briefly) off to sleep again.  Yesterday, he took my temperature repeatedly, made sure my every need was met, and we spent probably the first Sunday EVER in our lives laying on our respective couches, each of us under a blanket, eating Tylenol and chicken soup.  All day long.

If we hadn't felt so cruddy, it would have been lovely.

Today, we seem to have recovered.  (Turns out the church did just fine without us as well.  Imagine that.)

And I just wanted it stated, for the record ... I have the best husband in the world.  Spike - you're my hero!


Derbecker said...

My son had the same issue recently. He missed the piano, however. This time. Word to the wise - some lemon Pledge does work wonders...

Janer said...

That is heart-warming. Graphic, and heart-warming...

Anonymous said...

I'm very glad you're both feeling better.

And that Spike is a hero of his species.

But I'm happy to keep my distance for a while... :)


D_Morrison said...

This is remarkable similar to a story I have of Kim and I wile we lived in Toronto early in our marriage. Only it ends with Kim not making it to the bathroom and me tripping over her vomit wile cleaning it up.

Isn't love GRAND?