Why do you have to be such a man?

I found myself asking this question to my husband recently, when he made light of my idea that someone should meet us at our home after his knee surgery. I just wanted to be sure that we had help available to get him down the stairs safely to our bedroom. I really don't know why I was worried. Anesthesia, pain killers, and the use of only one of his legs may have factored into the equation. Plus the fact that he is a lot bigger than I am. Well, I needn't have worried. It was all under control. My genius husband had it all figured out — with an intricate, well thought-out plan that definitely put his engineering degree to work. He would just slide down the steps...on his hiney. My, oh my, why didn't I think of that? That's an easy question. The correct answer is, of course, that I’m not a man.

I don't care what anyone says, men and women are wired differently — and not just the plumbing. I'm talking about reasoning, logic...and the ability to think up a plan like hiney-sliding right after surgery (while loaded with drugs and suffering the aftereffects of anesthesia). Perhaps if the plan came about while he was chock full of Vicodin, but no...it was before. Uh-oh, I think I hear some grumbling. The guys are beginning to think that this is going to be one of "those" articles. You know, where the steely feminista writer bashes "the boys." Wrong. The "boys" are safe. While it's unlikely that I will allow any slip and slide escapades just after surgery, I admire my husband’s ability to seriously consider this as a viable option. It speaks to his outlook on life, which is don't spend half of your time planning it...and then the other half worrying about implementing said plan, or doubting your decision. Just do it. In the face of adversity, my husband usually has this same "Hey, don't worry about it" attitude. Living with this can be a bit challenging at times, as I am usually the one who cleans up after any hiney-slide episodes. More often than not, though, my husband's attitude refreshes me...and reassures me. It's when he doesn't come up with one of his "clever" plans that I worry most. And everyone knows that I am the worrier in the family. At least they think they know.

I used to believe that my husband's easy-go-lucky manner meant that he wasn't a deep thinker — that he took nothing serious unless it involved his work. Simply put, I got took. It's taken me 16-years to realize that I was wrong. Yes, I said it. I was wrong. This hiney-sliding attitude of his is a facade. My husband is a fake. He knows that I will never allow him to hiney-slide, so he suggests it anyway — knowing that I will scratch my head and think "What kind of 'meatball' are you?" Thus, I have something else (other than his surgery) to worry about. It's true. Once he put this ridiculous plan on the table, I stopped worrying about his surgery. I prepared the house, filled out the advance paperwork for the hospital, and went to the store and stocked up on easy to prepare (and digest) foods: I plan to give him a lot of Vicodin. I also stopped worrying about the toll yet another surgery might take on his body...or how I would get him in and out of the bath. I just let it all go. I relaxed, which relaxed him. Pretty smart tactic actually. He handled me pretty well. You see, he can't stand to see me worried...because then he worries. And somehow I recognized that it has to be healthier to go into surgery relaxed with a clear mind, than stressed out and full of fear for what might happen. Sure, I worry about his mental health, as most wives would. But this doesn't bother him, because he knows that he is reasonably of sound mind, if not body right now. So he continues to misdirect my attention — and I let him.

Some may think of this as a game. Perhaps it is. I prefer to think of it as communication, however different it may be. I call it "communication," because once I hear (and acknowledge) one of my husband's "astute" plans, bells go off in my head, and a bright light appears...and I know, without a doubt, that he is seriously worried (or concerned) about something. Then a new game ensues. A game of 20-questions on my part, with unsatisfactory answers (grunts even) on his part. But once I give in and give up, the answer usually comes to me unbidden. Do I let him know that I know? Not immediately, and not directly. We usually get there soon enough, working things out gradually. This time however, I had to step it up. His surgery was just days away. So I told him that his hiney-sliding plan was perfect — to go right ahead and "knock" himself out. I also told him not to worry, that I'll be there to slide down by his side if necessary. Am I concerned that he'll take me up on the offer? Not really. I've been down this road before. Besides, I have a pretty good poker face — and an ace in the hole.

My next-door neighbor is a registered nurse — and she has Friday off. Guess which day we return from the hospital? That's right, Friday. My husband has no idea that he'll have an audience (other than me) for his wonderfully refreshing hiney-sliding performance. Why should I worry him? He'll find out soon enough. We wouldn't want him to suffer any performance anxiety...would we?

Dedicated to my wonderful neighbor, Di. Thanks for going along for the "slide."

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta