My health is deteriorating, and quickly. I’ve tried to hide it from my dear Joan, my first and only love, but it’s getting harder and harder. I’ve always been the man of the house, her protector. I can feel her slowly assuming that role instead which makes me really sad. I’m the husband that worked two jobs just to make ends meet, and then take the kids all day on Saturday to give my dear Joan a rest. I’m the husband that nicknamed my wife ‘Slim’ because she was always worried about her weight. I’m supposed to be there for her, not her I.
After my heart surgery, things have started getting foggier and foggier. I find myself forgetting things that I’ve never forgotten before. I forgot that we got professional bath modifications in our bathroom and cried like a baby when I thought our bath had broken. We aren’t well off and I was so upset that we wouldn’t be able to afford to get it fixed, and then my precious Joan reminded me that she got it modified so it would be safer to get into. I only have a vague recollection of that happening.
I’m in the hospital again now. I have made friends with all the nurses. They know me as ‘the ice cream man who doesn’t drink water’. Every night for dinner I eat my ice cream first and they laugh. I also don’t drink water because water is for bathing, not for drinking. They find me funny and I like their company, but there’s nothing I like more than when Joan comes to visit.
I don’t remember this but apparently when she came the other day she was impressed that the company she had chosen for the expert easy step bathtub conversion in Sydney was the same company they used in the hospital. God, please let me come home to this woman. I love her more than I love my own life.