Wow, when they say for richer and for poorer, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, blah blah blah blah blah blah – they’re not screwing around! (I’m not going to finish the sentence. You all know what comes next and, anniversaries are for celebrating.) Steven and I just celebrated 15 happy years of richer, poorer, better, worse, sickness, health, sickness, health, sickness…
In retrospect, I’m sure that all of his times of ‘sickness’ are cancer related…oh yeah, except for that one time that he was teaching Alexis to play basketball and she faked left and made him blow out his knee. Other that that, he’s really only had that one sickness. Me? I’ve had a million issues that I’ve made a way bigger deal than he has of his cancer. If you’re a long time reader, you’ve already heard the tale of the arthritic toe. There are 2 knees that go with that toe, the worse of the two is the result of falling off my bicycle a few years back. The lesson I learned is that even though you have a lot more fat, you don’t bounce like you did when you were a skinny kid!
We won’t even delve into the menopause and perio-menopausal symptoms. Suffice it to say that Steven is a saint, and I, at times, have been a ranting lunatic strung out on hormones. Anything further on this topic is shelved for now. Mainly because menopause symptoms all sound just like cancer, so that’s a whole other blog post when I feel the urge.
So let’s just go with the sprained ankle from when I misjudged the space between my office chair and my ass, falling to the ground and entertaining all who were privy to the show. Then there was the emergency eye doctor appointment because I got a cocker spaniel hair embedded in my tear duct after home grooming Missy and Zack. (That’s why we got short haired dogs this time!) Or, the emergency podiatrist appointment when I dropped my blow dryer and rather than have it crash on the bathroom floor, I broke the fall with my foot, which resulted in a smashed toe. Then there were a half dozen stomach flu incidents when I wished I was single just so no one would hear the horror movie noises coming out of the bathroom.
I’ve had varicose vein surgery, which by the way doesn’t last so my legs still look like a road map of Georgia. After the surgery, Steven got to watch me hobble around with my mummy legs wrapped like Ruth Buzzi on Laugh-In (google it) That lasted for 2 weeks. Then there was the time I had some dental work done and the dentist nicked a blood vessel while giving me novocaine and my face swelled up and turned black and blue like Mike Tyson during the prison years. Steven took the brunt of that because people who didn’t know better thought he was abusing me!
So why is this a Happy Anniversary post, you ask. I’m going to tell you. Yesterday was our anniversary. We were going to go out to dinner to celebrate. However, the night before our anniversary turned into another incident. In the middle of the night, Zoey snuggled up to me in bed, stretched and stuck her paw, right in my eye…with her claw…at the exact moment I opened my eye. OOOOOOWWWWWWW! Seriously, you have no idea unless you’ve ever had a hot poker in your eye. All I could see was bright white, and since the room was dark, I knew that was really bad!
Yesterday was awful at work. I couldn’t stare at anything for too long without my eye tearing. I couldn’t wear eye make-up because of the pain, so I went with the vibrant lip instead…which matched the red blood shot color of my Pop-eye. By the time I got home I was a mess. I was tired from squinting, exhausted from the pain and disappointed that our anniversary was becoming a bust. I couldn’t even make a nice dinner because my spacial vision was so off that I was afraid I’d burn down the house!
Steven came to the rescue. He suggested I put together a make shift eye patch to give my eye a rest. After fussing about it for a while, I realized that he was probably right. While I patched up, he made me a healthy martini and declared an official pizza and TV night. And he told me I looked cute. Of course I begged him to take a picture of me in my Christmas jammies, sprawled out on the sofa under a blankie, sucking down a slurpee sized martini and smiling like a nut job. He would not do it. I guess I didn’t really look all that cute…or maybe he knew I only looked cute to him. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we were both extremely happy sitting there making jokes about my eye patch, snarfing down pizza and staring, with 3 eyes, at the tube. And that, my friends, is love!
So HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, HONEY. I love you. I absolutely know you love me. And cancer doesn’t factor into any of it. It’s just an eye patch in our life…only I take pictures of it!