Not only did he perform his chaufferly duties with aplomb, smiling silently as I babbled my head off in the recovery room (the recovery room that I don't even remember going into, or coming out of) and holding my arm to make sure I didn't fall over my own feet, and driving me home... oh, no - he did much more than that!
He stopped to get me a Coke-flavored Slurpee at the 7-11 on the way home... my lips, tongue, and throat were as dry as the Sahara desert in August, I didn't think I was ever going to get my saliva ducts working again. He got me cool, soft yogurts and cans of my favorite soups, and made sure there was plenty of orange seltzer in the fridge for me.
When we got home, he stayed with me wherever I was... he made us soft scrambled eggs for breakfast, which we ate outside on the patio. We stayed out there in the beautiful weather reading for a while, then later he made my lunch (delicious egg-drop chicken noodle soup), and when I decided I needed a little nap, he stayed in the next room.
It was like this all day, he was so solicitous and kind, holding my hand and stroking my hair... he is just an absolutely fabulous person, and what a husband!
After I got up from my nap, I toddled into the computer room to say hello, and he asked if I had a good rest. I nodded. He asked if anybody came to see me. I thought he meant the cats, and I said that Jinx had come and laid down by my feet sometime after I fell asleep.
Then he asked me if anybody else came to see me. Still groggy, I looked at him with question marks over my head. He said, "Go look under your pillow." I went.
Four silver dollars from the Tooth Fairy!
This still makes me a little weepy when I think about it. There is something about being ill, or recovering from something, that brings childhood close again. It makes me remember what it's like to feel vulnerable and to need to be taken care of. It's a great feeling to know that kind of love is still all around me.