We’ve been through this drill a dozen times before.  Don’t eat or drink after midnight. Get up before dawn.  Do not drink coffee. Do not eat bagel. At least for me. ugh.  Rick drives us ten minutes to the Texas Medical Center. We valet.  It’s the only way to go. We head straight to Dunn Tower, tenth floor.  We’re on auto pilot. We know the way. Rick even gives directions to an older lady pushing her husband in a wheel chair.  And so it begins. The hurry up and wait.

I’m a lucky girl in so many ways.  So many countless ways.  I live down the street from three hospitals that each have world class heart tranplant units.  We have good health insurance.  We have enough money.  I have few responsibilities to worry about.  I have emotional and spiritual support.  And I have Rick.  My secret weapon.  My everything.

He was already trained for the job when I met him. It was one of the things that attracted me to him, but also something I never dreamed I would need. Along with his brothers, he nursed both of his parents through prolonged illnesses when he was in his early twenties. Most of the heavy lifting was before I met him, but seeing him interact with his invalid mother convinced me that this is the man I want to spend my life with.  He showed compassion without pity. Not many people can do that. He also demonstrated something else that I value, a keen sense of obligation and duty. That is necessary when the magic wears off and anyone who’s been married longer than ten minutes knows that it does wear off.

Yesterday was a day of tests.  Artery pressure tests and a myocardial biopsy in the morning and an echo cardiogram in the afternoon.  Mostly it was the in between parts. The waiting in one room or another.  It’s boring.  But Rick does not complain.  He takes off work and he sits quietly by my side.  We are not big talkers. Never have been.  But he’s there. With me.  He tells the nurse not to start the IV in my hand.  I prefer the forearm.  It hurts less. He warns them about my low blood pressure.  He writes down verbatim what the doctor tells him about my tests. He waits.

And it fucking breaks my heart.  This man does not deserve to go through this again. He’s already served his time. But he does it and he does not complain. Ever. In addition to doctor duty, he has had to adjust his life to living without me. He’s lost his best pal, his drinking buddy, his hiking companion, his golf partner.  He watches TV at night because I’m not interested in going out. But he does not complain.  He will hear nothing of it. He’ll get mad when he reads this post.  But I don’t care.  I hate it.  I hate what this disease is doing to him as much as I hate what it’s doing to me.  But this is what life has dealt us.  And we take it.  One day at a time. Together.