(WARNING: If you aren’t married yet, you might need to look away for a bit or else you’ll never want to get married. Also, if you’re my minister, please skip this post and come back tomorrow. Thank you.)
For the past couple of days, I have had this dull, aching headache. Nothing too major, but constantly there. Then yesterday afternoon at school, that headache moved behind one of my eyes and got more intense. My nose was running, so I thought, “This must be a sinus headache or infection.” But by 6:00, that headache had turned into a full out migraine.
Migraines run in my family. My mom and sister get them terribly and fairly often, too. My mom takes a daily medication to prevent them and both she and my sister have frequently had to get shots for them. Fortunately, I seem to have escaped that genetic bullet. But last night I paid the price for having been migraine-free all these years. I thought my head was going to explode. I was honestly worried that my brain was swelling. Oh, it was awful.
I came home from swimming lessons, immediately passed the kids off on Chris, and headed right to my cool, dark bedroom. After a few hours, the migraine was still in full swing so I did what I always do when I don’t feel good. I called my mom. She gave me the run down on what to take, what to do, and what not to do. I emerged from my cave to eat some toast, drink a little something with caffeine, and take some medicine. Mostly though, I just wanted to sit with Chris.
I can’t tell you what a calming, soothing presence Chris has always been for me, but especially in the past month. I am not the easiest person to be around when things aren’t going good. I tend to shut people out and, while I’m just trying to work through things on my own, it can sometimes come off as being hurtful or snappy. Chris takes that so well from me. He gives me space, but is never too far away. On the days when I’m hurting and missing my dad, Chris sits there with me and just holds my hand while I cry. On days when I feel overwhelmed with responsibility and decisions, Chris sits there with me and reminds me of how capable I am even when I don’t feel like it. And on days when my body has had enough of the sadness and the stress and it just shuts down in a terrible migraine, Chris sits there with me and… well… shares his ice pack.
Last week, Chris had the ol’ snippy snippy from the doctor that officially means we won’t have any more wee ones. It was a big decision that we talked about for a long time. Chris and I both knew we were done having babies. Though we agreed that we made super awesome kids, we never wanted to be outnumbered. Too risky. What if they realized there was more of them than us?!?! He asked me as soon as Gracie was born what I thought about him having a vasectomy. I told him that it was up to him. Personally, I thought he was too young, but I would support whatever he decided. He went back and forth for a few months, but last month he said that he couldn’t make the decision alone. It was too important. So, we talked about it and decided that while we would certainly be overjoyed to have another baby, we both were also perfectly happy with our family of four and really didn’t see ourselves as having any more children. So, he made the appointment, went in last Mondays, and now he has been hobbling around our house for a week.
The procedure itself went really well and was fairly simple (as far as neutering goes, I guess?), but it has left Chris pretty helpless around the house. No lifting, which means no kids, and he needs to be sitting as much as possible. We’ve been taking pretty good care of him, but last night he was forced to grow a pair (giggle, giggle…) and step up while I was out of commission.
When I came downstairs last night to call my mom, I found him sitting on the couch with an ice pack down his shorts. We were quite a pair (giggle, giggle, snort, snort…). I couldn’t walk or stand up because I would get dizzy and see black spots, and he couldn’t walk or stand up because… well, you know. We were like an old married couple, wallowing in our pain and misery.
Finally, I had tried everything my mom had suggested with not much relief. The only thing left was a cold compress on my head. The following is a transcript from mine and Chris’s conversation about this cold compress dilemma. I’m not proud of it, folks:
Me: Mom says I can try a cold compress on my head.
Chris: That’s a good idea. But the washcloths are all upstairs, so one of us would have to get up and walk.
Me: I can’t do it. My face would explode.
Chris: I can’t do it either. My guys would explode.
Me: It’s okay. I’ll just sit here until I die.
Chris: Well, I do have this cold ice pack…
Me: The one down your pants?
(pause while I weigh out the pros and cons of this situation)
Me: Fine, pass me the ice pack.
And that, my friends, is when I took the ice pack out of my husband’s pants and put it on my face. I am not proud of this. It was not our finest moment. In fact, I am hanging my head in shame (and, yet, still writing about it on my blog?). We continued to pass the ice pack back and forth between us for an hour, when it finally thawed and lost all it’s coolness.
“Thanks for letting me ice my face with your family jewels ice pack,” I said.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he replied.
And then I took a shower before I went back to bed.