I can't really address the "what do you do for your SO" today, because what's most prominent in my mind in light of the events that have transpired since this weekend is how very much he does for me.
Saturday, we went out to breakfast together, because we decided that Sunday I would be too busy doing homework on Sunday night to go out for a dinner celebrating our wedding anniversary (which was Monday.)
After breakfast, I started experiencing what I thought was just back spasms. I came home, took a muscle relaxant, and leaned back on a cold pack. When it became obvious that I was still experiencing a lot of discomfort, Mr. Ambrya jumps into action and starts trying to find different pillows or cushions to prop up behind my back to try to make me more comfortable.
Then the nausea kicked in, and I spent the next two hours sitting on the bathroom floor. Mr. Ambrya grabs his car keys and runs to the store for Pepto and soda to help calm my stomach.
When we finally realized there was a problem and we needed to get to the hospital, he gets me into the car, grabs any meds or medical forms they might need in the ER, gets a bowl and a towel for me in case I start vomiting again, and drives me to the hospital. He then spends some three hours juggling all this stuff as well as my purse as we go through triage and wait to be seen in the ER.
In the ER, there is no place except a little rolling stool for him to sit down. It's getting late, and he's getting very tired, but there is no place for him to rest his head and nap a little while we wait for the doctor and tests and whatnot. Instead, he sat there on that stupid stool holding my hand and first trying to distract me from the pain, then later just sitting quietly as the Blessed Dilaudid kicked in and Ambrya went bye-bye.
He didn't leave the room when I began to vomit again. Not a romantic thought, I know, but a lot of people, including my ex-husband, can't be around someone who is vomiting. It triggers a sympathetic reflex or something, and they start to heave themselves. Not Mr. Ambrya. He stayed right there rubbing my back while my head was in the bowl and getting me wet cloths to wipe my face and neck with.
When we got home from the hospital, he tucked me into bed, then set out in search of an all-night pharmacy to get the presriptions we had been given filled, even though it was 1 o'clock in the morning and he was completely exhausted.
Sunday, he did all the housework and wouldn't let me do anything, even though I was feeling better. He was insistent that I take it easy.
Monday, he brought me two roses for our two-year anniversary, with a simple little card upon which he had only written, "I love you."
Yesterday, as he was on his way to work, I called him to tell him I was having another attack. He called my doctor and made an appointment for me to be seen, he emailed my profs and explained to them the situation and that I wouldn't be in class, he called the insurance company and got a list of surgeons they recommended, and he came home to drive me to the doctors and waited with me there, then took me back home and went back to work.
He came home from work, made dinner for us both, went shopping to get a bunch of no-fat foods, and then when he came home, we had a talk about the school situation, and the fact that it would probably be best for me to withdraw this term because I've already missed two labs, and if I miss one more, I can't pass. Even though this means that it's going to be just that much longer that he's going to be supporting us both until I finish my degree and get back on the work force, he was the one reassuring me that it was okay and that I shouldn't feel bad about it.
I would love to be able to tout a list of things I do for him, but today, I am simply overwhelmed with the knowledge of how much he does for me. So here's a shout-out to Mr. Ambrya for being the best man on the planet.