Rashes and such

He laughed.
And not kind-of, sort-of, non-committal laugh.
But the falling-over-full-body-he-started-gasping-for-air-mid-laugh-he-was-laughing-so-hard kind of laugh.
I was not impressed.

I'll level with you.
I most likely have Lyme disease.
Yep.
I'm that cool.
(And seeing as I thought ticks only lived in dense forests and not on high grass, I must have been bitten and didn't know it.  And I've got a bulls-eye on the back of my leg to prove it.  The doctors started me on medicine and we'll have the blood work back at the end of this week)

I was alright with it.  I mean, I'd already gone through my week of wondering if I was dying and almost bursting into tears because I didn't want to miss out on life with my kids and my husband.
But the whole rash thing?
I was all obsessed and needed to figure out what was going on.  And document it.  Of course.

translation: I checked it every time I went to the bathroom and then would proceed to make my husband look at it, too.  (Might I add that I drink a lot of water)  Because seriously, it could have changed by a few millimeters in a matter of five minutes.

I guess this kind of behavior can prove to be borderline annoying.  And again, I only guess.

Upon examining my body for the 996th time, I saw it.  The wonderful red splotches on my stomach (yep, had him document those, too) had spread.  Big time.  My body was now begging for a marathon game of connect-the-largesque-dots.
They were on my legs, my back, my FOREHEAD and my arms. 

Let's just say I wasn't thrilled about this.

And I may or may not have run into our bedroom screaming, "Ted, it's taking over my body.  I'm going to die."  (Again, may or may not have...)

And what did he do?

Yep...  You guessed it.  He laughed.

Me?  Not so much.  I developed mental dissertations as to why he was being a jerk and why this was the end of the world and why I was going to die.

His response? 

He laughed harder.

And I got mad.

To which, he laughed harder.  He had to walk out of the room because he couldn't get himself together and he also couldn't breathe.

And I wanted to be angry.  I wanted to go all, "You don't even being to understand..." on him.  And then I realized it.
This.  This is why I need him.  This is why I love him.  This is why I don't want to go a day without him.  Because he brings me back to reality.  And he laughs.  And I've never seen him take himself too seriously.  And my word, could I use some of that.  And maybe, just maybe, he was right - I was going to be fine.
I apologized.  (Once he stopped laughing uncontrollably)
I did explain to him that this is the first time I've ever had a rash and so I'm probably going to flip out, but I'll work on putting it in perspective.
Oh...perspective...


Disclaimer:  No husbands were harmed in the making of this blog post.

PS:  Ted, if you're reading...I love you.  And thank you.  For laughing.  I mean maybe not that hard.  But seriously - you're amazing.  And you inspire me to want to live so much freer.  And yes, I will have you check the bulls eye rash today.  To see if it changed...