Day 80: January Allergies

I said; "You are strong and you are brave." 

He said; "Why do I always have to be the brave one.  Why can't you brave sometimes?"

And in those moments I broke into a hundred pieces.  We're driving home from the awful phlebotomist experience, both hurting in different ways.  

It's not easy getting jabbed a dozen times, but  it's hard to be the person in the waiting room.  To be the one who's on the side.

A nurse called last week.  She wanted to cofirm more appointments with different specialsts.  I told her we were done for now.  That the insurance wouldn't cover much more, and we didn't feel comfortable with hormone therapy anyway.  She said she would just wait to hear back from Rich himself, she said maybe he would like to be the one to make this decision.  As if I had claimed some sort of executive veto power.  She rattled off a phone number that I never took down and we both hung up rather shortly. 

I've always thought that the brave ones were the fighters.  The front-liners who fought disease and travelled to hard-to-pronounce places.  But now I see that it takes a different kind of bravery to sit beside someone who is broken, even while you can't change a thing.  To wait.  I think of my father who will stay home as my mother travels to the border of Haiti. Thirty years together and he will put her on a plane.  I understand that it takes guts not only to let your loved one go do something incredible, but to step back while they do it.  To be at home, making sure the pipes don't freeze.  Keeping the driveway clear.   To read every magazine in the waiting room.  I want to be brave.
 
And so when my husband turns to me and says that I am not, it kicks the air right out of me.  But he's been through alot these past few months, so I push away the tears until later.  He's worn out and feeling pricked and manhandled, so I don't snap back. Instead I link my hand through his and try to be what he says I'm not.  And no, I'm not crying, I say. It's just allergies.  January allergies.