My terrible, awful, no-good, unbearable day + Bern

OK, so Friday night I hardly slept at all. I was wheezy and congested and felt worse than I've felt since I started getting two injections of Xolair every other week. Xolair is something you have to qualify for--you have to have allergies that are off the scale and can be determined by a blood test. (Don't ask me how allergies can be determined by a blood test, my Doctorate is in Theology, not medicine)

{Which reminds me of a question my granddaughter Morgan asked me a couple of years ago while I was watching her draw a picture for me. "Granpa," she said, "are you a doctor too?" Not a bad question since her other grandfather is a medical doctor and her two uncles on her mother's side are either M.D.'s or Ph.D.'--or, in least one case, both.

"I am a doctor," I told her, "but I'm not a medical doctor."

She drew for a while and then said, "Oh, you're a pretend doctor...."

"Actually, Morgan," I told her, "I am...."}

Anyway, after a bad night, I woke up as 7 a.m., tried to eat and couldn't, went back to bed and slept until 2:30 in the afternoon. I ate a little and took some of these blue pills for chest congestion and some Benadryl and laid in bed with my dog for a few more hours. Then I took more blue pills and red pills and went to bed at 9:30 and didn't wake up until 7:45 a.m. when my alarm clock told me I needed to go be a priest.

I ate a little breakfast and drove to Emmanuel Church, Killingworth. By the time I left, I felt absolutely wonderful and have since. So credit blue pills and red pills and Emmanuel's congregation and Xolair, in the long run.

And credit Bern.

When I don't feel well, she is wonderful to me. I was chilling most of Saturday and she kept piling covers on my side of the bed and tucking me in and being kinder than my whining ways deserved.

She took the dog out Saturday night--which is my job--and kept checking on me and asking if I needed anything.

The irony is, when Bern feels bad (which is much rarer than my whiny days) she wants to be left alone. So, I leave her alone. When I feel bad, I want lots of attention. So, she gives me that.

Not a bad recipe for a 44 year marriage, I'd say. Being what your spouse needs you to be makes the years flow along quite well, even if what your spouse needs is exactly what you wouldn't want if the tables were turned.

Marriage 101. We could teach that course.