Paul and I have very specific roles in our life. I am the delicate flower. I am allergic to everything with fur. I catch every cold, flu, throat and ear infection. I have suffered from sciatica, strange hives, plantar fasciitis and food poisoning. He rarely gets sick. In all the years I have known him, he has had 1 knee surgery, 1 unexplained migraine headache and accompanying spinal tap, 1 strange bug bite that almost turned into gangrene. That's it. That is the sum of his medical history. He is annoyingly and reassuringly healthy. While accompanying him on his rare trips to the ER, I go all Shirley MacLaine, Terms of Endearment on everyone wearing a lab coat.
I am the organized one. He is the calm, rational, reasonable and logical one. I am anything but. He is the repairman. I am the reason for most repairs being needed. So, when he gets sick, it really throws our world upside down. Unlike most men, he is not a crybaby. He is annoyingly stoic and refuses all attempts to help or nurture him. He has been afflicted with kidney stones. While I strenuously disagree that passing a 3 millimeter stone is comparable to birthing a 10.5 pound baby, I am sure it is painful. I know this because my husband actually went to the hospital AND stayed home from work. I think I just saw a pig fly past my house.
So, Christian and I have been nursing him back to health. We have one (and only one) very vital role. We are in charge of water. I open the freezer. Christian puts 5 (no more, no less) ice cubes in the cup. I fill it with water. Christian carries the water to Paul and orders him to drink it. Then he kisses Paul's belly.
I really hope our world returns to normal soon. For everyone's sake.