I’m not a patient person. I’m really not. I’ve tried – believe me! But patience really seems to be a virtue that I don’t have.

Don’t get me wrong. I can be patient with people. Or with animals. But when it comes down to tasks, work, ideas and such, I just can’t seem to wait. I want things done now. No, I want things done yesterday.

I’m the type of person who, mid lunch, decides a yellow wall would look good in the dining area. I’m the type of person who leaves her lunch, goes out, buys gallons of yellow paint, and sloshes it onto the wall before her husband even comes home from work. “Surprise!” I’ll say, before telling him to stay out of the way because “I will do a better job”.

Hubster calls me impulsive at best, occasionally silly, and always impatient. You see, Steven is the opposite of me. He’s methodological. Calculated. Careful. He spends months researching things before buying them. I can’t be bothered with doing all of that!

Anyway, where am I going with this?

If there is one thing that I have learned over the past 12 months, it’s that when you are a patient in hospital, you have to be exactly that. Patient. You wait to be seen, wait to be admitted, wait for a diagnosis, wait for a treatment plan. The waiting is seemingly endless.

When I was in the MBU I remember complaining to Hubster one afternoon that I wanted to go home. I was so homesick it hurt. I’d had enough. “You need to be patient!” Hubster told me. “you can’t expect things to change overnight.”

“But I’m not a patient patient!” I complained. “In fact. I’m an impatient inpatient!”

A few nights ago I ended up in hospital.  It was a combination of a nasty virus and severe dehydration – probably not helped by the fact that I had unknowingly taken medication which interacts with lithium. It was a long night for both Hubster and I, longer for him though, it would seem.  I was surprised when I did the math. We were in hospital for around 12 hours. 4 of those hours were spent waiting in the emergency room. Add on perhaps another 1 hour for seeing the doctor and getting hooked up to an IV. That leaves SEVEN hours unaccounted for.

I asked Hubster what I was doing, and he said that I was asleep.  Not surprising after a combination of narcotics, sedatives and anti-psychotics. The point of this is that my poor Hubster waited for seven hours in an uncomfortable plastic chair by my bedside, without a single complaint.

You see, patience isn’t the ability to wait. It’s the ability to wait without complaint. And boy, this man has patience.  Through depression, through mania, through sickness, through hospitalisations, through psychosis and everything in between he has never complained. I wish I had the patience that he possesses.

It never ceases to amaze me the love and support that this man offers me. He lights my way through the darkest of days. He holds me down lest I fly away. He is always, always there for me. My best advocate, my greatest support.

So Hubster, I hope you understand that words are inadequate in describing the length and the breadth and the depth of the love and adoration I have for you. I know sometimes I am infuriating. I know that sometimes it may not seem like I appreciate you. But please, please know that I always love and adore you. I hope you know that I can never understand what you have been through – for in some ways I believe this can be harder for the supporter than the patient  – but I appreciate it more than I can ever describe. Every day I wake up, thankful that I have you standing by my side. Thank you for everything, my love. You are my world.