I am on this day a designated driver. That is my sole job and responsibility. I have, therefore, no child care duties, no greater obligation, nothing typed into my calendar, no big agenda to move toward completion.
Sure, I feed the animals and it does feel like a chore this morning, because it is so cold out there! We wont move beyond freezing. All that mushy wetness yesterday? Frozen solid today. Only the youngest hens go out. And then they immediately find a wind-free hiding place.
Breakfast? On my own.
And then I wait until I'm called into action.
At least my driving today consists of shuttling Ed back and forth for medical stuff (that is the assignment) that can be taken care of within the perimeters of Madison. When we attend to his eyes (that comes next week), we have to go to the end of the state and back. He chooses his health care providers carefully.
Ed as a patient is very cool and blasé. He uses few words to communicate with the staff. I fill in the pleasantries. As we get older, I expect these visits will grow in number but for now, we keep them to a minimum. Both of us like to pretend we are very self sufficient.
When you have been together for as long as we have, you understand each others habits and preferences pretty well. But all bets are off when health care issues arise (and to be clear: Ed is not sick; this stuff is routine). Both Ed and I like to minimize what ails us, hating any pity or advice. But, I tend to be a user of the health care system and he is exactly the opposite. When you go in with him to a clinic, he barely understands the protocols. I'm there not only as a designated driver but also as an interpreter. Do this, put away that, go there... And so on.
Of course, nothing phases the guy. A doc could come in and tell him -- sorry, but you have an incurable disease and we expect that you will be dead in two minutes. I'm certain he'd just turn to me and say, Oh, okay, bye gorgeous. Don't forget to put away the chickens and feed the cats tonight.
Man, I love his attitude!
So the day is spent on me driving and eventually, at sunset, we go home and luckily he does not get that diagnosis of only two minutes of life left within him, so he puts away the cheepers and feeds the cats and I fix dinner and he dozes off on the couch, because the whole idea of going to a clinic for the better part of the day is exhausting for a guy who can chop down trees and lift heavy objects but cannot get himself to see a doc more than once every very many years.
