I could bemoan how I went from a seemingly fixable issue to a surprise, unfixable, chronic one. Or how I thought so many times that I just didn't want to live life anymore this way, being trapped inside my body.
But what I really want to talk about is marriage...and my husband. The guy who jumped into this mess with me and who somehow hasn't felt the need to climb out.
This is a guy who listens to me cry, who rubs my back when I'm in pain, who gives me hugs when I need them most.
A guy who has reassured me probably a thousand times that the doctors will get me better. That I'll come out the other side. That I'm not dying and that I'll have a good life after all.
A marriage is something so many people don't know how to do. When you marry someone, you promise to stand by their side even when the standing isn't fun. Sometimes the earth beneath you turns to muck, and you're holding hands and sinking down together.
A real husband is a man who stands by his wife. Who looks at her with love even as she stares blankly into the mirror, wondering what happened to her former self. Who still loves her on the days she feels the worst and doesn't have much to give. Who never turns away, even when she isn't so lovable all of the time.
A husband - a man - doesn't bail when things get hard. He shoulders himself, puts on his armor, and turns to face things head on.
My husband is the best man in the world. I couldn't do this without him and I can't ever find the words to explain how he keeps me afloat. But sometimes, I still try.
This is one of those times.
I love you, my husband. Thank you for loving me.
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