Apparently a crippling illness is what it takes for my husband and I to finally spend Valentine’s Day together . . . and a few unexpected days earlier in the week.

As I’ve previously written, Pete and I have lived apart since 2012.  This past weekend, he sweetly suggested we have dinner out for Valentine’s Day while we were together.  He left for Asheville on Sunday as usual and all was fine.

He texted me Monday morning: “I think I’m sick.  Staying home.  Swimmy head.  Headache last night.  Kinda nauseous.  In waves.”  Sounded like the flu, which has attacked so many people we know lately.  I’d had a headache Saturday night, and we both mentioned being really tired, so I waited to see if I came down with it, too.

Monday afternoon, Pete actually called out his vertigo symptom and had a low fever.  He was afraid to drive with the vertigo, and I was regretful that I couldn’t take him, being down in Charlotte.

Tuesday, there was no change, and I had looked up Pete’s symptoms online and concluded he could have a brain tumor, among other things.  Of course the brain tumor option stood out to me because it killed my dad.  I said, “I can come up and take you to a doctor.”  Pete and I are both stubborn and independent.  I awaited the text reply where he would turn me down.  I think I was telling my friend at work that he would tell me no when Pete replied, “OK.”

I had a work call scheduled at noon.  Pete’s acceptance of my offer came at 10:27am.  That was a long couple of hours until I could get on the road.  When I entered our Asheville apartment, it was dark and Pete was in bed, a ceiling fan on to alleviate nausea side effects such as sweating.  Pete’s doctor couldn’t see him that day, so we went to a partnering clinic that mercifully accepted walk-ins.  Pete walked with his eyes closed down the stairs out of our apartment.  He lay the seat back in my car.  He didn’t enter the clinic until he had to.  He lay down as much as he could, eyes closed every possible minute.  They made him stand, sit, walk, do this, do that, and the doctor finally said that he has “true vertigo”, suspected to be peripheral (as opposed to central), cause undetermined.

Going through this, we have found several people who have had vertigo or known people who have had it.  Apparently, around 40% of people get it.  Pete’s description is that it’s like the drunk spins.  The world, the room, are moving.  His eyes feel like they’re moving, but they are perfectly still.  We could feel them pulsing at one point through his eyelids, but to look at them, they weren’t darting around like they felt they were to him.  Today is day three, and only tonight is he able to open his eyes for more than seconds at a time, following a visit to his primary doctor, a steroid injection, and two doses of an anti-nausea prescription he received yesterday at the walk-in clinic.

We haven’t held hands this much in 14 years.  Because he can’t open his eyes without the world moving, he walks unsteady and almost entirely unsighted.  I guide him when we go to doctors.  Inside the apartment, he holds onto walls, counters, etc.

Some of you have been through his with people you love.  I have, with my parents.  It’s different this time, because I believe the expectation is that Pete will recover.  And it’s different because he’s my spouse.  And it’s different because I’m not with him.  I’m so grateful I’ve been able to leave work and go be with him, and I’m so grateful we’ve already chosen to close the CLT-AVL gap in a few months so this won’t be an issue . . . and maybe God is using this to make that decision crystal clear for me, since I spend a portion of every day reciting my reasons why.

The fact is, nothing is guaranteed.  Pete, who is not known to miss work, will miss this entire week.  And while we hope that’s all, he’s 2 days into a 10-day medication that cancels the effects of the vertigo by somewhat knocking him out.  Another medication has a 30-day run.  We see a new doctor Friday (Blue Car, don’t fail me now!  I am burning up the roads this week.), and that establishment mentioned follow-up appointments.  How many?  How often?  When can he drive again?  How much work will he miss?  How much work will I miss to be there for him and take him where he needs to be?

I told Pete today: I am stressed, but I am not worried.  I’m stressed because I don’t have answers and I don’t like spontaneously missing work even if I have already given notice and tried to get my replacement in there well before this.  I’m not worried because I do believe Pete will recover, and because I know I am doing what I need to do.  When Mom got sick, I relied on Dad to accompany her to doctors’ visits.  When Dad got sick, I relied on my sister to be his caretaker.  It’s my turn now.  Pete is my spouse and my responsibility – not in a burdensome way, but in a way that I understand that with him is where I need to be.

Something like this knocks a lot of unimportant stuff out of the way.  I think I needed that.

But I also need Pete to get better.  Because we aren’t done doing things yet.

He posted on his own blog today.  I haven’t seen it show up yet, but if you are aware of his blog on his website, keep checking over there and I trust it will appear eventually.

I think I should sleep now.

Thanks for reading.