Jack and Rebecca may just be the most perfect couple on the planet right now.
You know…JACK-AND-REBECCA. If you’re one of the few people, who apparently exist, not watching This Is Us, I seriously recommend getting on board and binging as soon as possible. It’s so, so good. Absolutely one of our faves and once you check out a couple of episodes, you’ll likely see why.
It was definitely the best show I discovered during my recovery last Spring. At some point, I had probably 13 episodes waiting for me on our DVR, which honestly just felt too daunting to even get into, but when I finally did dive in, I of course, binged like four episodes in a row. Love it. LOVE. IT. And after dropping lots of “man, that show is soooo goood”, “you’d really love the writing”, “each time you think you know where they’re taking you, they give you a little twist”, “it’s such a different and cool concept with the time leaps” hints around Bill, he eventually said “I’m going to start watching this show, aren’t I?”. To which I replied, “I guess, sure, if you want.” ;-D
Okay, we’re no Jack and Rebecca. I can’t sing a lick and while Bill definitely is rockin’ some luxurious hair, a 70’s ‘statche? Not so much. (Thankfully.) We definitely don’t have triplets; one very needy cat is enough right now, thank you. And if I do say so myself, my Bill is even a little more perfect than her Jack. But like Rebecca’s husband, mine is also a superhero. My superhero. Except mine is real and doesn’t just play on on TV.
My living, breathing, bench-pressing superhero is someone you may already know and love. Completely unnecessary spoiler alert: it’s Bill.
Did you know that hospitals no longer have those stupid, awful “visiting hours”? I never did get that. Once during college, I ended up getting really sick and needed to be admitted overnight for dehydration. Nothing super serious thankfully, but the timing meant that I was missing my Dad’s (early) retirement party that same night. (Unfortunately, his ill health was the rude instigator for said retirement.) I remember that my boyfriend at the time would need to leave around 8pm or so or get kicked out…I was left to watch TV by myself for a couple of hours over the stereo sounds of my roommate’s moaning. (Thank the universe also for more private rooms in hospitals, too!)
When I finally did fall asleep, I was woken up about every 2 hours to check my vitals (which they still do), but I think it was more of an excuse for them to “forget” to turn off the bright florescent light over my head when they left, just about every time. They also usually forgot to close the door. My room was right outside the nurse’s station and it didn’t matter if it was 4am, it was just their regular workday and they gossiped and spoke (seemingly) in their outside voices quite often. I’m pretty sure after I was released, I slept for like two days straight.
Several months after his retirement, my father was admitted to the hospital during his battle(s) with diabetes complications. (This time it was pneumonia). I distinctly remember visiting him that night and he was doing well. Seemed to be in good spirits all around so when we (boyfriend) and I were kicked out that night, he hated to see us go and we hated to leave. But we had a relatively long drive back to Fredericksburg from Alexandria and classes the following day. BUT he asked my Mom if she could stay just a little bit longer as he took her hand and to my surprise, she said she could even though she was planning on leaving with us so he could rest. It definitely struck me at the time as it was very out of character for him/them.
They had a lot of difficult times during their 30 year marriage, but his being sick had brought them closer. When I left that evening, I was elated to see that love between them again AND that he was doing well. At the crack of dawn the next morning, I got a call from my Mom who said he didn’t have a good night and wasn’t doing so well and could we come back up? Ever the protector, she didn’t let on just how serious it was that I get there ASAP so I remember stopping off for a couple of magazines since I’d spent enough time at hospitals over years to know that usually it’s just a lot of sitting around and waiting.
She was frantic when we finally arrived and the nurse could not have looked sadder when I entered the room. Overnight he had apparently slipped away and now a noisy ventilator was keeping him alive (thanks to his DNR {Do Not Resuscitate order} and that was it. Once they removed it (they were waiting for me to do so – we had just taken my poor brother back to college like two days before for the start of his Spring semester), he would pass away as his organs were already shutting down. At just 54 years of age. WHAT?!? We knew he was very sick and very likely didn’t have all the time in the world, but I definitely did not think when I said goodbye and kissed him on the forehead the previous night that that would be the last time. (I am thankful for the small miracle that he had that as his last memory of me, though. I just wish my brother could have had that, as well.) Thanks in large part to those damn visiting hours, I wasn’t really able to say goodbye, though and tell him how much I loved him.
Well, needless to say, I was very happy to learn not only are visiting hours a thing of the past, private rooms are much more common now, too. Wow, what a world of difference just those too things make to helping one regain their health. Something they generally prefer you do when you’re at the hospital. Now, after my 6+ hour surgery that day, Bill would be able to stay in the room with me that night. In addition to a reclining chair, they had a long couch under the window where he laid his head for the night. Even though I was largely out of it, I can’t tell you how much comfort it brought me to have him there with me.
Amazingly, I think he was even able to sleep through the continued check ins and nurse assisted trips to the rest room overnight for me. (Thankfully, this time, my wonderful nurses always turned off the lights and closed the door. I love Colorado. 😉 ) When he awoke in the morning with the sun, he declared the couch the most comfortable in the world. That was before we knew I’d be there two more nights, but after going home to spend some time with Callie, came back each night to stay with me. It was wonderful having him there and being my partner in crime (see previous post about bed alarms, etc.).
This time last year we celebrated my birthday, as well as my semi-return to the land of the living after my February surgery, in Portland. It was a great trip, but probably not surprisingly, I was in a very different head space then. If you started reading this journal because of said surgery, you already know that my recovery had been longer and more difficult than either one of us had expected. Aside from the physical pain, I was dealing with a lot of emotional pain, the depths of which I had not expected nor experienced before. It’s like I was reliving my parents deaths, as well as dealing with what seemed to feel like the loss of myself.
Through it all though, Bill was my side. Not only was he my primary care giver, he was my biggest emotional support during that difficult time. I know it’s cliche, but I quite literally could not have gotten through *everything* without him. He squeezed my hand when I got the news that I had the mutation back in 2007 as if to say, “we got this.” And every six months after that for over ten years, often joined me for my bi-annual mammograms, MRI’s, blood tests, ultrasounds, etc. surveillance appointments.
He nursed me back to health in 2013 when I had my ovaries removed to greatly reduce my chances of the ovarian cancer that cruelly and painfully took my Mom. And he handled my sudden medical menopause at my tender young age of 43, with incredible compassion and strength. Still does.
He listened as I went back and forth for the next several years on whether or not to follow the next step I was seriously considering: a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy and voiced his support for no matter what I decided. Once I made the decision and the timing was finally right professionally, he accepted my decision with grace and unequivocal support. And of course, he was again in my corner; before, during and after my invasive surgery and extended recovery.
Over our 20 years together, we’ve had a few hospital stays between us now and as we get on in years, we’ll likely have a couple more. But this birthday finds me simply, beyond blessed. Profoundly thankful for overall good health and grateful for the privilege to grow old and gray, alongside my favorite human on the planet. (Eventually I’ll probably stop paying my hairdresser two months’ salary and let nature take it’s course, but not today). I receive the best gift each and every day we get to experience this amazing journey called life together. That has never been so crystal clear as it is now.
This birthday, I actually find myself grateful for the journey my experiences with the BRCA2 mutation have taken me/us on. In just a little over one year, we both have changed so much since that rainy trip to Portland. (Since it often rains on my birthday, why not go somewhere where it was fittingly for our state of minds at the time, practically guaranteed). Bill just celebrated his first anniversary at Crossfit Roots where I’ve also worked with a personal trainer who is helping me regain my strength and health. And next month, I’ll celebrate a full year of an almost daily meditation practice, which maybe not surprising, reignited Bill’s abandoned practice as well. Ommmmm….
This birthday will find us celebrating in sunny Santa Fe with dear friends. (Why not go somewhere this year where it’s practically guaranteed to be sunny on my birthday to match our current state of minds)? But no matter when, where or how we celebrate my birthdays, I’ve already received the best gift: getting to experience this amazing journey called life each and every day with my Bill. I hope to never forget how lucky we are.
No, we’re no Jack and Rebecca who (spoiler alert) didn’t get to grow old and gray together, in TV land. And thankfully, we’re not my Mom and Dad who only came together again because of illness and who also didn’t get to grow old and gray together, in real life.
Maybe we’re Jamie and Claire. Sigh. Outlander can come back any day now, too, but I digress. Again.
No, I think we’re just Anne and Bill and while we’re definitely not perfect, being “a&b” feels pretty perfect to us.
Happy birthday to me, indeed.
Photobooth pic from Bill’s Big Easy Birthday this past February. A much more fun February than last year!
