Monday, January 23, 2012

"that's a good question" he said.

i wouldn't ask for a blanket
and instead of being warm and comfortable
i shivered
under a pillow and small pink scarf.

i didn't want to bother her
and for some reason wouldn't use my voice.
it was small that day.
it is often small
in the presence of professionals
i've noticed that.

the very professionals
who want to care and nurture and help.
she told me later that they have lots of blankets.
lots.and lots.
next time.
i said
with a sheepish look in my eyes.

i wouldn't ask for a blanket
to stay warm as the medicine
chilled my body right down to the bones,
flowing through the iv tube.
iv medicine makes me cold.
than i usually am.

but more than that,
i didn't let him ask either.
and in his way,
he let me be
to learn what i needed to learn
to feel what i needed to feel.
offering up opportunity and willingness
 no, i said.
and he respected.

that night,
 buried under lots of blankets
feeling braver, at home,
i whispered to him in the dark
"why wouldn't i ask for a blanket?"

"that's a good question" he said.
and i laughed quietly at myself.
hot tears
gone and waiting for another day.

1 comment:

  1. Isn't a good husband an amazingly wonderful thing?

    And, you tell this story so well!