My husband had been a godsend since I got sick.
My doctors were really stumped at first, but we figured it out. The doctor prescribed me a medicine to take every 6 hours. It’s supposed to help with the pain.
My husband is an excellent nurse. At first, I hated to have him do it.
My illness was turning me into a person I didn’t recognize - moody, temperamental and very impatient – but my husband just kept going, giving me the tiny blue/green pills that would cure my ails.
But my symptoms worsened. My nose started to bleed profusely. My husband left a message with the doctor, but no response. I started developing bruises and my stomach was always upset.
The doctor apparently thought this could be solved by an increase in medicine, so I began taking it every 4 hours.
I smiled pitifully at my husband, thanking him for his devotion and swallowing that bluish pill.
He ran a gentle hand through my hair. A fistful of hair had come out along with it.
I cried and cried, but I really just needed to be alone. I sent my husband to the store. A few minutes after he left, I realized I needed to take a dose.
I weakly climbed out of bed and made it to the medicine cabinet. There were my little blue pills, scattered loosely around the cabinet.
I grabbed the pill bottle and unscrewed the cap so I could dump them back in.
My pills were white.