Taming the Husband
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After her stint at the hospital, Margaret was feeling on the mend and figured shed launch herself right back into her usual whirlwind of activities first thing in the morning.
But when she woke up, she was greeted by a rather surprising inner rebellion.
Meanwhile, her husband, Peter, was already getting stuck into his joint-stretching routine.
Peter, a sportsman to his boots, hadnt abandoned his ways, not even in retirement. Each day began with the full set of exercises the rheumatology nurse had given him three years ago.
Margaret generally started her days tending to Tilly, their beloved long-haired tabby, and next would scrub her litter tray.
Then shed fill Tillys bowl, pop a Bonio in for Freddie, their ever-bouncing Jack Russell, and whip around the hallway and kitchen to clean up after the nights furry escapades. Morning walks with Freddie usually came next, all before the day gathered pace and Peter reappeared for the longer strolls in the park.
Later in the mornings and again in the evenings, Peter joined them for a meander under the old oaks, soaking in the calm. But those early hourswhile Peter flexed and wiggled his way through his health regimenMargaret found herself chasing one domestic task after another.
And after walking the dog, Margaret would rush back to whip up their reliable, modest English breakfast. Usually cottage cheese with honey and currants, alternating with eggs in every imaginable form: poached, scrambled, or her fail-safe cheese toasties.
Shed always called this morning racket her own form of exercise, but when the NHS doctors heard about her schedule, they demanded real exercises, as no amount of feather-dusting qualified as proper fitness training.
As for Peter, hed tidy the bed after his joint gymnastics, muttering all the while about how this was hardly a mans job and how most of the household ran on his shoulders. Twice a week hed shove the laundry in the machine, vacuum downstairs, occasionally grumbling to anyone whod listen that Margaret still couldnt get anything done properly.
Hed even do the breakfast dishes, announcing loudly to Margaret (and, by implication, to all of England): Now you see just how much help I am!
After breakfast, Margaret would get lunch going, then plonk herself down in front of her laptop.
Retired, yes, but she still did odd jobs onlineafter all, no one wants to live counting every pound like a Victorian orphan.
Peter, of course, thought her efforts a bit of a joke and her keenness for new coats and shoes an irresponsible splurge. The cupboards are fit to burst as it is! hed say. Margaret tended to let him win those little squabbles.
Clothes held little magic for her especially since Peter often complimented her on looking damn amazing, considering our age, love! And if Peter rocked up with a third electric screwdriver ordered from some late-night infomercial, bought with her so-called silly earnings, Margaret politely ignored it.
But her sudden illness flipped everything upside down, to the point it was enough to give Margaret the jitters.
Shed ended up in hospital by way of an ambulance after fainting in Sainsburys car park on her way to buy a pack of crumpets.
The doctors were genuinely surprised shed managed to walk anywhere unaided after seeing her blood test resultsthey were, as they said, bleeding awful. (A true NHS phrase, if ever there was one.)
Peter even panicked at the sight of her, pale as an English February, stuffed into a hospital bed, drips dangling everywhere. At home, he hardly knew where to startturns out two dogs, three cats, and motherhood-level housework had mysteriously tripled behind his back.
And, naturally, Peter was over the moon when he was finally allowed to bring his darling wife home. He did care. He really did.
The first few days saw Margaret firmly obeying doctor’s orders: feet up, with Peter fussing around, checking in every half hour.
So, Margaret, you better yet? Still pale? Youre looking much betternone of that ghost look from last week! hed say, then chortle, Dont get too cosy with that sofa, or youll forget how to walkcome on, back to normal life!
Margaret didnt argue, but deep down, she wasnt so certain about this back to normal business. And that morning, she felt no urge whatsoever to plunge into housework the minute shed blinked awake.
She glanced at Peter, all determination as he twisted and stretched his knees, certain shed leap up and get cracking.
But for the first time in eons, she no longer saw her doting husband. Instead, she could only see someone blissfully unaware that he was about to load her up with thankless chores again.
She felt a distinct flicker of rebellion.
Margaret remembered what the doctor, all worried frowns and gentle voice, had said.
You never put yourself first, and youve trained your husband not to notice either. He thinks its all effortless for younever realises how much you do. Didnt you come in here in an ambulance with anaemia? Your numbers are three times lower than average. You *do* want to live, right?
Right then and there, Margaret had been plugged into a drip and, over five days, received blood transfusions until her levels looked like she might just outlive the family cat.
It was her very first transfusion. As she watched the blood inch along the line into her arm, Margaret thought, Blimey, thats the blood of five strangers in me. Theyve kept me alive. Who knowsmaybe Ill start liking reggae music or feel the urge to skydive?
Looking back, those thoughts werent so mad.
Once back home, Margaret found herself strangely reluctant to pander to her husbands every whim. She loved Peter, sureand he did more housework than most gents. But hed forever exaggerate the importance of his own errands whilst downplaying hers.
Margaret used to find this endearing. She was, by nature, a peacemaker. These days, something inside had definitely shifted.
Now she wanted to pay herself a bit more attentionperhaps have a bash at the piano again, which had become a glorified plant stand, or take up something else shed never quite managed to put a name to.
She stretched, then stood, and joined Peter on the carpet for some tentative exercise. He glanced at her, genuinely incredulous.
You didnt get too much medicine at hospital, did you, Margaret? Are you planning to take up fitness at your age? You look smashing alreadyjust get on with the breakfast and sort the pets, will you?
The doctor insisted, Margaret shot back, her voice a touch sterner than usual. He said if I dont, I wont be around much longer. Or is that what you fancy?
Peters jaw nearly hit the carpet. Then, perhaps thinking this would all blow over with a cup of tea, he kept quiet as Margaret barked out: Right thenIll feed Tilly and Freddie, and youre on dog-walking duty while I make breakfast. Chop-chop!
Even she was surprised at how quickly Peter agreed. Inside, though, she felt a new, unsettling energy.
It was as if five new voices inside her were urging her to finally clear out her battered old cardigans and buy something freshshed earned it! They egged her on: do your exercises, rediscover music, live a little!
Five bold, shiny impulsescoincidentally, the very number of transfusions. An odd notion, but whos to say? Surgeries have changed people odder ways.
Now, when she looked at Peter, there was no eager-to-please apology in her eyes. Instead, determinationand a bit of dry amusement.
She saw his confusion, poor man, as his familiar world of handy, convenient Margaret seemed to be evaporating before his very eyes.
You know, Peter, she said, not one bit worried how hed take it, maybe you thought I wasnt doing much because you never noticed. Well, you will nowbecause Im about to chuck the moth-eaten frocks and get some decent outfits. Im going to play piano tooremember how you always joked my years at the music academy amounted to nothing but Chopsticks and Greensleeves? Well listen to this.
Margaret lifted the lid, set her fingers on the keys, andastonishingly, even to herselfplayed something beautiful, something long-forgotten but achingly familiar.
Peter just stared, dumbstruck and slightly spooked.
Hed grown used to one Margaret, and now was facing quite another. Stronger, more decisivealtogether more remarkable. And the transformation unnerved him, just a little.
Margarets smile was different toonot meek, but confident and brimming with possibility. She could feel those five little sparks of new life urging her on. And, for the first time in ages, she didnt just want to surviveshe wanted to actually live.
To live a full lifeone with space for herself, her own quirks and interests, and, perhaps, a healthier brand of love for Peter: one built on real respect, not martyrdom.
Margaret had no idea who her five unknown benefactors were, but she suspected theyd been strong, generous souls.
They hadnt only saved hertheyd given her a whole new lease of happiness.
Peter watched his Margaret with fresh admiration.
They say theres no point asking why things happenillnesses, hardshipsbut rather, we should ask what were meant to learn.
Maybe all these tests were sent our way as a reminder: life is wondrous, messy, and fleeting. Every drizzle, frost, or shaft of sunlight is a minor miracle, as are the grins and the foibles of those we love.
And if the husband in your house ever gets too grouchy, sometimes the only answer is to give him a nudgeremind him what being a man is all about.
So while we can, lets make the most of every moment, and treasure what we havebecause thats the only sensible thing to do, isnt it?
