For a few years, I used to be ill very often. I was never very ill - never enough to be hospitalised — but I would get what seemed like the flu, what doctors diagnosed as the flu or a throat infection or a stomach infection, more and more often. Towards the end it was once a month, so I was practically always ill, on the verge of being ill, or recovering from my last bout. Not a pleasant life, and I know how lucky I was to have a somewhat normal life in spite of it and even hold down a job since my boss was incredibly accommodating and allowed me a great deal of flexibility — I couldn’t have had my current job then.
But I finally figured out what the problem was — I’m sensitive to both gluten and lactose, and not being aware of this, had never tried to avoid these foods. Since I cut these out of my diet, my health’s dramatically improved.
I don’t know what I would have done during this time without the Guy. He was my caregiver when I was unwell — taking care of me with patience and love. He rarely showed any resentment (I can’t say ‘never’ because he is, after all, human).
I am better now, but he remains kind and loving, and indulges me when I am not feeling well. This ‘not feeling well’ can encompass something as trivial as getting my period and (very) mild cramps and feeling like staying in bed all day, as I did today. Between intervals of lying by me and reading or setting up a movie for us to watch, he asked me what I wanted to eat and cooked for us — breakfast and lunch and dinner.
I am incredibly lucky.