My Poor Man

He has had quite a week full of ups and downs.  He got to go to an apologetics conference and to visit his brother.  Two fabulous treats in one!  He was lonely at the conference, he said, but came home with some neat DVDs we will watch together—once he is up to it.  That is the clincher!

Now my poor man is not up for much of anything.  It looks like he had some bad dressing and is suffering pretty seriously from food poisoning.  I feel horrible for him.  There doesn’t seem to be much either of us can do, but ride it out.  Not many people read this, I know, but please pray for my wonderful man.  At this point, he says death would be a relief from the cramping and bathroom time.  He is no drama king and considers any talk about death to be morbid and wildly inappropriate. 

Please pray his recovery is swift, and that we do not end up in the emergency room.  Our hospital frankly isn’t a place one would want to end up if in need of medical care—which, I realize is a bit of a contradiction.  There is always this peculiar internal conversation that happens when one is sick or injured here.  “How sick am I?  Sick enough to go to the hospital? Maybe, but am I healthy enough to sustain whatever they might inflict on me?  Yeah…no…I am just too sick to go to the hospital.”

I can see my darling husband weighing the consequences each time I offer to take him in.  I can’t tell if his no means he is well enough to suffer at home, or too sick to endure the hospital.