Yesterday I had a migraine, a whopper of a migraine, a grand-daddy migraine, a ‘thanks-be to the gods and goddesses that whispered in my ear that I probably wanted to clean the bathroom right now because I was about to get up close and personal with it soon’ migraine.
At 2pm, it was a threat. “Tylenol, some water, it’ll pass.”
By 3pm, I was on the couch hoping a nap would knock it out.
At 4pm, the reality that this was going to be a doozie was all too *gag* clear.
Just before 5pm, Jeff called to say he was going to have to take a visiting colleague out to dinner and then to the airport. I asked if he could pick up our bi-weekly veggie order from the co-op first, as I knew I wouldn’t be in any condition to walk over and get them. Hearing the pain in my voice he, husband of husbands, immediately found someone else to deal with the colleague so he could come straight home. Dude has my back.
After getting me some more meds, water and leaving all the lights very much OFF, he ran to the veggie pick-up, made himself a quick dinner of leftovers, and checked to ensure that I was as comfortable as possible. Then he headed out to the gym for a quick round of weights (at my insistence) but skipped the usual post-weights swim.
Once back, he whipped up some scrambled eggs with the hope I could keep something down but it was a no-go. Two bites in and I had to stop. His beautiful, delicious, it’s-his-new-super-power, perfectly scrambled, light and fluffy eggs ended up in the bin. It was a goddamn high protein tragedy, I assure you.
Clutching the hand-rail and with his arm around me, I climbed the stairs at all of 7:45pm, turned the corner into our room, and crawled straight into bed. Never have I been so thankful for blackout blinds, cozy sheets, cloud-like latex pillows, a warm shoulder to rest on, and a tender hand stroking my hair. I don’t think I woke up once the entire night.
Maybe being sick doesn’t make this such a romantic story for a post on Valentine’s Day, but he was pretty damn loving last night and that’s better than dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant in my book. We’ve never subscribed to the the Big Date aspect of the holiday. A card maybe, certainly a text, an extra kiss during the day. Call it good. Maybe we’re dull by others’ standards, lazy/cheap/curmudgeon-ish in some eyes, or just content with quieter and less date-dictated forms of affection. Whatever, it works for us.
This morning I woke renewed, hit the gym for weights, a dreadmill run, and a quick swim. I walked to the grocery store, picked up the truffles, had a nice chat, and put out the fancy Luxardo cherries I’d found for Jeff. A card AND a gift?!? I know, I was on fire.
For dinner, I made braised chicken legs with white wine, fennel and pancetta over brown rice. I didn’t much like the flavor. It happens. He love, love, loved it though so I’m happy about it in that regard. We drank the rest of the wine with dinner and enjoyed a few of the truffles afterwards. Flowers and candles are per usual on the dinner table, but tonight they both seemed a little more vibrant to me.