Not that there was a line of ’em or anything. Its just that there are times in our marriage when he reiterates why i knew in my bones the night i met him that he was the one for me.
Friday there was this blog/story about a little girl denied a life saving transplant at a Children’s hospital due to her mental capacity. And it pretty much had me in tears all damn day. (links will follow)
THat a team of doctors decided that because she was developmentally disabled that her quality of life wasn’t WORTH the transplant set off alarm bells in me that i am still a little worked up about.
BEcause it feeds that fear i have that Ben will never be “accepted by the tribe” if you will. That his diagnosis, no matter how cute, or brilliant or quirky he may be, will mean he is deemed a second class citizen. It takes every mama bear nerve that i’ve got and just plucks the hell out of them and rubs them with sandpaper and then pours lemon juice on them. They are WORKED NERVES.
But that’s not what this post is about. Without telling him how this sotry made me feel vulnerable and XANAX seeking, my husband took up the gauntlet, shared the link to the petition started by fellow special needs mama SUnday, (and lemme just say, one group of women you DON’T wanna get riled up are SPecial Needs mamas–it’s like there’s an unofficial phone tree that gets activated, and hell hath no fury, etc etc), actually CALLED THE HOSPITAL in questions, made numerous posts on their FB page, found out their major donors and developed a plan to contact them, and on and on.
(now lemme just say, my Old Man has escalation issues when his sense of justice has been triggered. He knows this–and has learned to just stay the shit OUT of things becuase it would get him into trouble, and cause him undue amounts of stress.)
But it was these actions that made me feel secure and whole again, becuase i knew (even though i KNEW) that no matter what, this Hairy cave man of mine would stand up to the lions of injustice if our son was ever in need of it. That were our child to be threatened by tribe, we would pack up the teepee and strike out on our own, and he would protect us with every breath. It was primal and spoke to a deeper genetic code than wedding vows and joint tax returns. IT was that “my hero” moment that wives have now and then that make you overlook the underwear on the floor and the cheetos dust on the duvet.
Yeah. He’s the right one.
Here is the link to the orginal blog story dicsussing the issues, and here is the link to the petition started by Sunday Stilwell. And if you’re still worked up, here is the FB page of CHOP. Let’s make a big enough stink about this so that someone will pick up this little girl and approve the transplant she needs!