THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 10, 1994 TAG: 9407070062
SECTION: HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: YOUR TURN
SOURCE: BY MONIQUE WILLIAMS, SPECIAL TO HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN
LENGTH: Medium: 83 lines
I PRIDE MYSELF for being married to a True Value man. You know the kind. He can use a drill motor like a virtuoso uses a violin. Now, he can't cook, and he won't do the dishes. But all I have to do is mention that something needs fixing, then out come the drill bits, screwdriver, pliers, etc.
My friends envy me. The single ones borrow him once in a while for repairs, and as soon as they get to know him they want to know if he has a brother.
My stock answer to them is, ``No. His mama broke the mold.''
In the many categories that we women put men, my husband fits into the low-maintenance category. Strong, independent, never needing or wanting help and always so darn healthy.
Until recently. He arrived home from work looking as if he went through a carwash. Puffy eyes, sneezing, coughing.
Well, I thought, he has a cold. That night he spent the night in the bedroom adjacent ours, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting on a stool while I snoozed next door.
By morning, the rattle coming out of his chest scared me. His breathing was obviously labored so I took him to his doctor. Diagnosis: Pneumonia.
Now, pneumonia is serious business, but it isn't death. Rest, said the doctor, take your antibiotics and an expectorant, and stay in touch.
We followed the instructions, but the antibiotics made him nervous - very nervous. He couldn't relax. Could I stay by his beside and help him relax, he asked.
Sure.
Maybe you could massage by back. It makes me forget how miserable I am.
Sure.
If you scratch it, it feels even better.
Sure.
In the back of my neck, it feels real good, especially behind my ears, yeah, right there in that little nook where my glasses rest.
Sure.
And so it went on for 10 days.
The metamorphosis from a self-sufficient man to a lost puppy was so surprising that I could hardly adjust to this new man in my life.
Between back scratches and head scratches, I read him the Physician's Desk Reference, analyzing the various side effects of the medication he was taking.
Babe, he'd say, am I going to be Ok? Of course, I'd say (as I scratched his head), this is just temporary. You'll survive.
I fetched him water, I fetched him food, I fetched him his Kleenex and I bought a bottle of baby oil so that my tired hands could glide effortlessly on his back.
But by now, I wasn't scratching. I was clawing.
Halfway through this ordeal, I realized that my low-maintenance husband was turning into a full-time job.
I tried to recall the last time that I was sick and he stayed home to take care of me. Never. He went to work and called to check up on me. I slept, watched TV, read and slept some more.
Then my sister called from Paris.
``You sound sick,'' she said. ``Well,'' I said, ``I am not, but my partner is. I am ill out of solidarity.''
``Is your husband the same when he gets sick,'' I asked. ``Of course,'' she said. ``Les hommes c'est comme des bebes.''
Men are like babies when they get sick, she said. Don't you know that? No, I said. I thought mine would be different.
Of course not, she said - le probleme est global. Oh my God, how terrifying. The problem is global. Let us pray that they never get sick again.
By the end of the 10 days, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. But my nails - always weak and chipped - were longer and healthier than they have ever been. I am not sure whether it was because I wasn't washing the dishes or from all the stimulation they got.
But I know exactly what color I'm going to paint them: Dragon Red. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
MORT FRYMAN/Staff
Monique Williams and her ``True Value'' husband live in Virginia
Beach.
by CNB