For My Husband, The ER Doc

Last night at 7pm, about 20 of our neighbors gathered in front of our house to clap for my husband, Nathan, who is an ER physician. 

I was inside putting the girls to bed and Nathan was outside trying to get some fresh air while on a 2 hour phone meeting regarding the latest protocols for treatment of COVID19.  

I missed the entire thing, but he came inside, misty-eyed and told me what had happened. I was shook.  Such a simple, kind and caring act made all the difference in our household and to my husband last night.

(For those neighbors who might see this, THANK YOU!)

It reminded me of something Nathan told me years ago.  He said that one of the moments he tries to be most thoughtful about is when he might be the last person one of his patients sees or talks to on this earth.  

Until that moment, I had never considered this somber thought.  I like to live my life in denial of the absolute horrors that my husband has to deal with every day. It is too hard...for me.  In my mind, he sits behind a computer and every so often sees a sprained ankle or a delightful old lady who went too hard on Bridge with her friends and needs a breathing treatment.  Everyone lives and rides off into the sunset on their unicorn.  Denial is my (super healthy) way to manage thinking about what he has to do at work.  

But I know that isn't what the emergency department is like.  He has to make quick, difficult treatment decisions with limited information. He is the one to sit and tell family members the most horrible news of their life. He has to see abuse and neglect and tragedy in one room and then walk into the next room to get yelled at for taking so long. 

And yet, he remains thoughtful about this delicate moment, the moment before a patient passes out or gets intubated. 

He told me that he rarely says, "It's going to be okay."  For that's not something that he can guarantee. For some, it unequivocally will not be okay.  So instead, in those moments before somebody slips into oblivion he says, "We will take very good care of you."

We will take very good care of you.

That is what he and his team can guarantee.  Good. Care. 

Good care is what I see around me.  From neighbors checking in to friends and strangers staying home to protect the more susceptible among us.  Good. Care.

Everything will not be okay.  But we can always take good care of each other. 

My dearest Nathan, in this pandemic I know not everything will be okay.  You won't be able to save them all and you can't guarantee that you won't get sick (or worse).  But as your partner for life, thank you for taking good care of us.  All of us.  

We promise to take good care of you. (Especially me...wink, wink.)

I love you,

Celeste

P.S. This is why I went into sex education...because my "emergency" is when I can't find my vulva poster for a presentation.  LOL!  If you would like help in your sex life with painful sex, low libido or finding your own sexual ethic, I'm happy to take good care of you.  Just respond to this email to get started.  :)