I don’t talk about my wife much. She would rather I not. And not because she is scared of what I might say about her.
No, she does not like me to talk about her in writing for a couple reasons. One of the reasons is professional. She has a professional reputation she is very proud of and rightly so, she has earned it.
And not just because of university, med school, residency, being the president of a medical foundation, teaching students of her own the entire time, being a part business owner of a clinic, being the best damn diagnostician I have ever seen – no. It isn’t for those reasons why she is proud of her professional reputation.
It’s because she honestly gives the best care she can. And she does so at the cost of a lot of money and a lot of respect.
And I’ve been with her since she got out of residency.
I don’t write about my wife, I don’t sing her praises, because she does not need me to. Her patients have. She has won awards, in multiple areas and ways, because of this fact. She is nothing less than amazing at being a doctor.
Because she loves her patients. And they don’t make it easy.
I hate false dichotomies. Givers. Takers. We are all givers and takers. Her patients, the patients she loves, are killing her. With their need. She tries to fill it but it does not end. Can not end. That is the nature of suffering.
And love. Love is a monster. It is how you get by being got. I love my wife. I have been married to her for 25 years. Known her for longer. She has supported me with love, understanding, care, attention, compassion, devotion and empathy.
And I have supported her. With my love, attention, care, compassion, understanding, empathy and devotion. I refill her coffers so she can be the doctor she is and the wife I know.
Let me tell you about my 25th wedding anniversary present. It’s quite the story.
A year last January my wife and son got me guitar lessons. I was hooked immediately. Every week a lesson. I just had my one year anniversary. Oh yes, I am hooked.
I suck. Of course I do. That’s what beginners do. I mention this because I lusted after a guitar that I have no right lusting after.
A Breedlove guitar. The factory is in Bend, Oregon – not too far from where I live. These are expensive guitars. Very expensive guitars. Far too expensive for a beginner of my rank. This is my opinion.
My wife felt differently. She wanted me to have one. So we went to the factory to get one. I insisted. For this reason:
The factory does not sell guitars per se, they make them and ship them to music stores and people who custom order them from the factory. The latter are the more expensive because they are custom.
When an instrument is damaged, either at a store before purchase (say a pick scratch), or during shipment to an individual, it is sent back to the factory and the luthier repairs the damage. These guitars are then sold at the factory at a discount, known as “B” stock.
A guitar, slightly damaged, but well mended, otherwise sound and ready to make music?
That sounds like just the guitar for me. And at a discount. Yum.
I got my guitar. Her name is Dulcinea. I named her well. She is a Premier Concerto Edgeburst CE (Cutaway electric) acoustic electric guitar. She has redwood as her tonewood and East Indian Rosewood back and sides. She is beautiful. She makes such sweet sounds. Even in the hands of a neophyte like me. We’re getting better though!
I named her after my wife. So. Thank you to anyone who may think to approach me with any notions of dating, sex, romance. I will say to you the same thing I say to anyone in the past who has come knocking at my door.
I am very flattered. I am also in love. I hope one day, you find someone who feels about you the way I feel about her.
And if that doesn’t work. Well, I refuse to believe that the world is divided into two classes of people. That’s like saying –
There are two classes of people, those who divide people into two classes of people…
And those who don’t.
As we were driving back to Portland, my wife and I were laughing. She said, no more guitars for you! She has heard of G.A.S. (gear acquisition syndrome). I said I tell you what… 25 years can I get another?
We shook on it. We have a solid marriage. No marriage is perfect. We have had our troubles.
I will say this though – I asked her, the day before I got Dulcinea. Have I ever made you cry? She thought about it. Honestly thought about it. Once. Before we got married. When it was taking you so long to divorce {redacted}. Not since we have been married. Cry? No.
My wife is not a liar. I’m a writer. I’m a liar (of sorts) by definition, at least I recall Neil Gaiman having one of his characters say something to that nature.
And anyone who says differently… will have me to contend with.
