On being cherished
Jenny Block
As I stood in the shower, and my wife washed my back gently in small circles, my eyes welled up with tears.
This is love, I thought.
She has slowed danced with me in the kitchen.
She has tucked me in dressing rooms with champagne, sending in gowns for glamorous galas.
She has taken me on European cruises.
She has started eating more Asian food only because it’s my favorite.
She has blessed the adoption of a puppy when the pandemic threatened to crush me.
She has loved me — hard — through life’s changes. And in the four-and-a-half years we have been together, there have been A LOT of changes.
But never before had I felt so loved as when she recently took care of me after I had some elective surgery — “elective” being the key word in this conversation.
It wasn’t just that she cared for me when I needed it after surgery. It was the way she supported me fully in having the surgery in the first place and then took such good care of me after, despite it being anything but life or death.
When I was pregnant with my now 22-year-old daughter, I gained an inordinate amount of weight. That gain and the subsequent weight loss took a massive toll on my body. So, I had a “mommy makeover” a year or so after she was born, which included breast implants and a lift. They were bigger than what I wanted right from the get go. But I learned to get used to them and even like them most of the time.
Fast-forward 20 years: Even after reaching my goal weight, I’ve continued to gain and lose the same 15 pounds or so again and again. My breasts became downright unruly for my 5-foot frame. So, I decided to have the implants removed and to simply have my natural breast tissue lifted. It’s big surgery. And it’s not cheap. But I saved up, and my wife didn’t bat an eye when I said I wanted to have it done.
“Whatever you need to do to feel good,” she said.
So I called Dr. Forrest Roth in Houston, and I got on his books as soon as I could.
It wasn’t that I needed her permission. But I certainly did need her help. I kept asking if she was sure she was up to it, especially with her work schedule. I mean, it’s one thing if I had to have surgery. Of course, she would be there, and of course she would help. But elective surgery? She could have said, “Call your dad.” And I would have, and he would have come.
But she didn’t. Instead, she just said, “I’ve got it, baby.” And she did.
She made plans for us to stay in Houston with friends since we live 90 miles outside of the city. She drove me to the hospital. She picked me up. She helped me to bed. She gave me my meds. She brought me my favorite blanket and pillows and even stuffed animals to prop me up in bed.
She had pho delivered and brought it up to me on a tray day after day when it was the only thing I wanted. She stripped my drains and emptied them. She lowered me into and lifted me out of bed. She dressed me.
And she gently put me in the shower and carefully washed my body in what felt like something sacred. It was having her do that for me that made me feel perhaps more humbled than I have ever felt in my life. I was bloody and bruised and swollen and teary and hunched over. I was naked in front of her like I am all of the time, and yet, I felt exposed and vulnerable and a little bit broken.
It’s been two weeks now since the surgery. I’m not allowed to raise my arms or lift anything for another two weeks. So, she is still lifting and opening and fetching and reaching at my request. And she’s having to do her share and my share of the cooking and cleaning and straightening and shopping and laundering. And she’s done it happily 98 percent of the time.
She is only human after all, and it can’t be easy when I can’t even use the microwave or get ice by myself.
She is overly protective and likes to do things her way. She is independent and expects me to be as well. She likes to be taken care of as much as she likes taking care of others. And yet, all I had to do was say, “I’m not comfortable. I need to do something about it. And I sure could use your help.” And just like that, she was all in.
Dr. Roth is an incredibly kind and talented man as is his ridiculously attractive staff. (It is a plastic surgery practice after all.) He did an incredible job. He made me feel safe and heard, and I am over the moon with the results already. He was at the helm of the art and the science of my journey.
But my wife was the heart, and I will never doubt to whom hers belongs.
It’s easy to be there when it’s easy. Your person will be there even when it’s hard. And they’ll be there without question and for no reason other than that you need them there.