...I had a terrible migraine. Horrible.
(Rather than answering each email I've gotten or might get, I will tell you upfront - NO, I do not have a brain tumor. Why does everyone immediately go there? Is that what you do in non-blog life? Say, "Man, my head hurts - it MUST BE A BRAIN TUMOR.")
(OK, wait. Actually a lot of people DO do that, so never mind.)
Still, I was pretty sure this was just a dehydration headache, so instead of getting an MRI, I swallowed a few ibuprofen, drank a ton of water and sat down to wait it out.
Chris came over, doing his usual shtick - just dropping by, total coincidence that you happen to live here. I felt awful when he showed up - my head was pounding, the kind of pressurized pounding where you almost can't think it hurts so much.
He took one look at me and started asking if he could do something, if I wanted a drink, or did I need different medicine because he had some Tylenol with codeine leftover from his last dentist's appointment, or did I need him to run to the store, or...
I wonder if I looked as bewildered as I felt.
You know, I used to have this friend, Sarah (married off ages ago) who was tiny and beautiful. All of the guys in our circle were constantly falling in love with her. If she so much as had indigestion they were racing to volunteer to take her to the hospital, whereas if I had indigestion they'd toss me a bottle of pepto and wish me luck "working it all out."
It was really hard to be her friend sometimes. I used to wonder what it would be like, to be put up on that kind of pedestal. I've just never been that girl.
I'm mostly OK with that, because, you know - I'm an adult, I can take care of myself. I don't need a guy - any guy - to take care of me. I'm perfectly capable.
But that's totally different from wishing someone would want to, and knowing that it would probably only ever be a wish.
Chris turned off the light in the family room and made me lie down on the couch with a blanket and my head on a pillow on his lap and he sat there and gently stroked my hair while he watched TV. Lying there, I was almost in tears - so touched by the idea that someone - no - that he wanted to take care of me. ME.
He saw the tears, and asked me what was wrong, but I didn't want to explain, so I told him my head was hurting really badly. He murmured that he was sorry, that he would put the TV on mute and watch with the closed captioning on (because maybe the quiet would help), and as I watched him fiddle with the remote my stomach started flipping - over and over and over again.
Later he tucked me into bed and told me to "feel better," but he looked reluctant to leave. For a minute it was almost as though I was one of those girls, those girls you take care of, and then he kissed me on the cheek and was gone.