Alternative title: Really, Honey, Really?
Ya know how I said that Honey never complains? Never.
Ya know how I said that sometimes I feel like he is extremely dependent? Extremely.
I think I have found the link that ties these two behaviors together.
It’s me. I am a complete and total enabler. (I’m going to try to explain what I mean so please be patient.)
When I am having fibro pain, I don’t complain because it really doesn’t do any good anyway; it makes me sound like a whiner and puts a damper on whatever we are doing. When I was growing up, the rule to live by was: “the first person to complain ruins it for everyone else.” This was initially introduced as the Disney Land Rule but was applied across the board. Once someone complained we,as a family, would leave where-ever it was we were and go home. Nobody wanted to be that person, so we only fussed when absolutely necessary.
So, Honey never complains.
He lets me know how he is feeling in more subtle ways… He simply can’t do things, he cancels plans (or rather has me cancel for him), he groans, he asks for Tylenol… As I said before, I am generally pretty hip to whatever it is that he is feeling.
Don’t go getting all pissy with me yet – I know he has brain cancer. I realize that he deserves some catering to. Just keep reading…
The other evening (at around 9:30 pm) I was cleaning the kitchen when Honey came in to tell me that since I had made shredded chicken I could now make him sandwiches as that would be an easy meal to prepare…
I asked him if he meant now or for lunch tomorrow and future meals. Honey sweetly replied, “Oh, for lunches and stuff.”
He then turned to me and said (wait for it…..), “Well you can make me one now. Just get out the bread, the chicken and the relish. That should be good.”
I am guessing that he didn’t notice my head spinning 360 degrees or he would have hustled his ass out of my kitchen right quick,
Instead, it was I who left the kitchen. I just walked out – throwing, “If you have the energy to get your lazy ass up off the couch to come in here to tell me how to make your damned sandwich, you certainly have the energy to make it yourself” over my shoulder on the way.
Here is where I made a crucial mistake; instead of going straight to the living room and getting comfortable, I hovered. I tried to help him with the relish and he earned the right to tell me that I was treating him like an idiot. He was right, but that didn’t alleviate any of my pissed-offedness. If anything, it cranked it up a notch. I believe my answer to that was something along the lines of, “I can’t believe the nerve of you! The kitchen is fucking closed! What’s it going to be next? “My Love, I have taken a shit, you can come wipe my ass now.” Really Honey,,,Really?”
Honey quickly realized the err of his ways and apologized for taking advantage. To me, getting a sincere verbal apology is all it usually takes to make me feel better and move on.
And then, this morning, I totally shit you not, he did it again.
We have been sleeping downstairs because Honey has had that nasty cough; him on the couch, me on the recliner (and that, too, is love). Last night was the first time we had slept in our bed in well over a month. I was in a wonderful, beautiful and comfortable sleep like I hadn’t had in quite a while. You know that point in the morning when you could either get up and get the doughnuts or continue to sleep for another hour of more? That was the moment that Honey chose to wake me with a, “My Love, it is time to get up and let the dog and cats out.” I rolled over, looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was 7:40 am. I panicked because I have to leave to drive T to school at 7:45am. I was out of bed and dressed before I realized that today is Saturday and we are having a child-free weekend.
It is rainy today. Rather a grey day. A perfect day to do absolutely nothing but sleep in, stay in our indoor clothes, watch movies or do whatever we want. Not to get up at fucking 7:40 am. The thing that completely boggles my mind is that he was already awake but thought it would be appropriate to get me up as well. T does that too, but he’s six and he, at least climbs into bed and gives me a cuddle before expecting me to get out of bed.
I am almost off my tirade, give me just one more moment, please.
The culmination of this fiasco was when Honey decided to get up at 9:15 and greet me with perfectly pleasant “Good morning, My Love, boy am I hungry.”
If I don’t take my meds very soon, this will set the tone of the entire day – and that doesn’t bode well for anyone.