My Husband, the Hero

Friday, November 30:

I had been feeling a little off for the past 2 weeks, but nothing I couldn't manage. I figured it was some viral thing and decided to wait it out. Around noon on this Friday I started feeling really crappy. I called Pedro and asked him to come home. He did. He called the doctor and got me an appointment for the following Monday.

Saturday, December 1:

We let Pedro open his birthday gifts a day early so he and the kids could spend the entire day playing (a new wii and some games). They played, I napped. I still felt crummy.

Sunday, December 2:

Pedro's birthday. I felt so bad for not celebrating his birthday better but all I could manage to do was heat leftover pizza. My guilt gave me enough energy to make him a cheesecake around 8 that night. I had no appetite. The kids don't like cheesecake. I don't even think we sang "Happy Birthday" to him, and I'm pretty sure he didn't even cut into the cake that night. What a birthday.

Monday, December 3:

Pedro went to work, and the kids went to school. My doctor appointment wasn't until late afternoon. I watched the clock all day counting down the hours until I could see my doc and he could fix me. I'd never been so anxious to get to the doctor. I sent Pedro a desperate e-mail around 10 a.m. begging him to come home because I felt like I was dying. I just wanted to cry, I felt so bad. He came home immediately.

Pedro dropped me off at the doctor and waited in the parking lot with the kids. The nurse took me to the back, asked me what was wrong and before I could answer I had a hack attack. She listened to me coughing up a lung, didn't ask anymore questions and just sent me for an x-ray.

The doc came in and told me it was pneumonia. He said I was lucky because they caught it early and it was mild. Hmph! Didn't feel mild to me. I'd hate to ever find out what non-mild pneumonia is like. I went out to the car, handed Pedro my prescriptions and told him what was ailing me. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and I think he spluttered something like, "don't you need to be in the hospital for that?" I explained between cough attacks. He dropped me off at home and went to get my drugs.

The next 3 weeks:

Pedro did everything. He woke up with the kids, fed them breakfast, got them dressed and out to the bus. Then he'd do some dishes--by hand, our dishwasher has been broken for months. Then he'd log in to work and try his best to work from home and keep Bri entertained and fed. He made sure I was taking my meds at the right time. He brought me food and drinks when I started getting my appetite back. He rubbed my back, and kept a trash can by my bed where I could dispose of my lung as it fell to pieces. He helped the kids with their homework, ran errands, picked up Leisey from choir practice, bought food, made dinner and paid bills. He put the kids to bed every night, made sure they bathed, he tried to keep the house clean and make sure everyone had clean underwear. Everything I normally did was now on him.

In the midst of all this, Eric and Brianna started napping more and developed nasty coughs. Pedro took them to the doctor as a precaution. They had bronchitis. Two more people to take care of, two more meds to make sure got down the right throats every day at the right time.

I felt so guilty while I laid in bed. I wanted to help so bad, but I just couldn't. After a week I was able to sit up and fold laundry and sort through the mail--my way of helping out. This all happened in December, so Pedro was now in charge of all the Christmas shopping and preparation. He knew it was killing me to not be a part of it and to let our traditions slide this year. He made up for it by making me write down all the things I wanted to eat, watch or do. And he made it happen.

I never heard him complain once.

He is my hero.