The first time I had to take Deb to the hospital was when she got food poisoning. She didn't feel well, so she asked me to speak for her at the emergency room check-in.
When they asked her birthday, I turned to her.
"You don't know my birthday?" she asked, in a tone I imagine she would've used if I had just admitted that I didn't know nose picking wasn't socially acceptable.
In my defense, if I was good with any sort of numbers, I could've gone farther in life, I feel. As it is, dates are numbers, so there you go.
So I learned her birthday. Aug. 23, 1965. 8/23/65. I worked at it. I got to remembering as easily as I remembered my own. I memorized it so I would never hear that tone again.
A couple of years later, some guys at work was planning a guys' night out. We were going to catch a Sky Sox game (the Colorado Rockies minor league team) on 50-cent hot dog night. Baseball, cheap eats, beer ... toss in a cigar and it would've been perfect.
So I tell Deb my plans.
"A guy's night out," she says.
"Yep."
"On Wednesday."
"Yep."
"The 23rd."
"Yep."
"Of August."
That tone was back.
Needless to say, there was no guy's night out for this guy.
So, fellas, here's that advice. Don't just memorize her birthday. Write it down on every calendar. Put up Post-Its all over your computer. Tattoo it someplace conspicuous. Do whatever you have to do to remember it, because whenever you forget it, you'll get that tone, and brother, that ain't good.
You'll thank me one day.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
The other side of the story
Looking back at recent entries, I notice I keep coming up with things I did for Deb, but I haven't gone into things she did for me. I worry that it makes me look like I'm trying to boost myself or, worse, not painting a complete picture of her.
So this one's to try to set the record a little straighter.
1. On one of our first dates, we went to Poor Richard's in Colorado Springs. If I was to list my favorite places on earth, Poor Richard's would make the list. It's a combination pizza place/bookstore/toy store. Seriously.
Anyway, being me, I was showing off by playing with the toys, especially this dragon handpuppet. It had a tongue, so I started using it to lick her face, my face, the other toys' faces.
Months later, for Christmas I got that puppet. I barely remembered playing with it, but she did. Its name is Aloyisius, and I still have him. And yes, he still licks everything in sight.
2. After I had my torn ACL repaired, Deb drove us back to the townhouse, but I couldn't make it inside, only to a lawn chair on the back porch which faced the street. I was weak, and I could feel my vision narrowing. I was getting the whole tunnelvision/head into the light thing, I swear. As i was passing out, she kept her cool, called 911 and got an ambulance.
I fully recommend marrying someone who's had emergency training and has worked as a 911 operator. They're good in crises. We even stopped one day at a traffic crash and she took charge of the scene until the highway patrol arrived.
Anyway, it turned out the anesthetic hadn't worn off - I remember the paramedic saying my blood pressure was 75 over 50, and he was surprised I had any consciousness at all. So after some monitoring, I got to go home for reals. But in our townhouse the bedroom was on the second floor, so Deb nursed me in the living room for the next couple of days.
3. The day after my first full-on panic attack, I was petrified of going in public, but I knew that avoiding crowds wasn't going to be an option. So when Deb went to the grocery store, I tagged along. Walking in the door, I was paralyzed. She told me I didn't have to go in, but I told her I did. OK, she said, and she took my hand and led me around the store, reassuring me constantly.
That's the girl I miss.
So this one's to try to set the record a little straighter.
1. On one of our first dates, we went to Poor Richard's in Colorado Springs. If I was to list my favorite places on earth, Poor Richard's would make the list. It's a combination pizza place/bookstore/toy store. Seriously.
Anyway, being me, I was showing off by playing with the toys, especially this dragon handpuppet. It had a tongue, so I started using it to lick her face, my face, the other toys' faces.
Months later, for Christmas I got that puppet. I barely remembered playing with it, but she did. Its name is Aloyisius, and I still have him. And yes, he still licks everything in sight.
2. After I had my torn ACL repaired, Deb drove us back to the townhouse, but I couldn't make it inside, only to a lawn chair on the back porch which faced the street. I was weak, and I could feel my vision narrowing. I was getting the whole tunnelvision/head into the light thing, I swear. As i was passing out, she kept her cool, called 911 and got an ambulance.
I fully recommend marrying someone who's had emergency training and has worked as a 911 operator. They're good in crises. We even stopped one day at a traffic crash and she took charge of the scene until the highway patrol arrived.
Anyway, it turned out the anesthetic hadn't worn off - I remember the paramedic saying my blood pressure was 75 over 50, and he was surprised I had any consciousness at all. So after some monitoring, I got to go home for reals. But in our townhouse the bedroom was on the second floor, so Deb nursed me in the living room for the next couple of days.
3. The day after my first full-on panic attack, I was petrified of going in public, but I knew that avoiding crowds wasn't going to be an option. So when Deb went to the grocery store, I tagged along. Walking in the door, I was paralyzed. She told me I didn't have to go in, but I told her I did. OK, she said, and she took my hand and led me around the store, reassuring me constantly.
That's the girl I miss.
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