My Man Andy

The month we had on the road between moving out of one house and moving into the next--that was the first time in our married life that we had every evening together and slept in the same bed even, every day of the week. For the three years before that, Andy had been Q3 or Q4--hospital talk for on call every third or every fourth night, meaning 24-hour-plus shift and me home alone at night.

We both finished working on the same day, had the house packed the next, and the moving van and our own car packed the morning after that, when we blew kisses to our dear neighbourhood and front porch and roses and California poppies and basil and raspberries and Salt Lake, and drove south to hit I-70.

No mystery why this baby happened only when residency was over.

But since we've lived here, Andy's only on call Q7 or so, and often he can come home and get a few hours' sleep. Last night was a busy night in the local NICU and that didn't happen, and you know what? I met the resident I married again!

I knew that it was better for Andy to be getting more sleep, and I knew that we were both happier when that happened, but I didn't recognize until tonight, despite Andy's trying to tell me again and again, just how much of our first years together were coloured by a simple lack of sleep. The kaleidoscope of emotions, the odd and random conversation, the complete phobia of social anything, the exhibitionism . . . The dear man. It's much easier for me to be helpful and kind about it now than it was during residency, when he probably needed it more.

One of the best things we ever did was adopt our dog, Duke. It's almost his one-year adoption anniversary. He's Andy's first pet and also a kind of window into the dynamics of our household: he obviously views me as the alpha female. For example, occasionally (and usually it's when Andy is postcall) Andy will try to incite Duke to break the rules and lie with him on the couch while he watches a movie. On nights when I'm not home apparently Duke has no problem with this. But the other day, Andy had him snuggled on the couch and when I walked in, Duke got very uncomfortable and finally just got off the couch. It's weird, like I'm his little doggy concience or something. If we're on the trail and we call him over, he'll come to me first, every time. But Andy is his buddy in a way I'm not, and that was obvious today at the animal hospital when we took him to see Dr. Fairchild to get his booster shots. Rabies and whatever else.

When I take him by myself, Duke is ok until he gets a whiff of where we are, then he does his best to avoid going in the door and his pupils get huge and he gets cringy and leans into my legs and paces around. Usually Dr. Fairchild has to muzzle Duke just in case. But with Andy there today, he was relaxed enough to eat a treat (but only from Andy's hand). He didn't need a muzzle, and even the vet mentioned how different it was this time with "daddy" there. Andy beamed. (His face beamed, my heart bloomed . . . what's that from?) (There's something about the word daddy. It's one of those words that squeezes your heart a little. I overheard Andy talking on the phone about being excited for Scout: "I'm starting to nibble little babies' toes when they come in to clinic.")

I've forgotten some classics, but these are a few of the things I've heard Andy say to or about Duke. In earnestness, mind you:

"If only you could kiss me back"

"We should get Duke a co-sleeper"

"Duke's going to need some big brother books"

Me: I haven't been worrying about Duke and Scout so much lately. I think it will be ok.
Andy: Yeah, she'll get used to Duke.

One thing I can love about postcall days and nights now that they're less familiar, is the way Andy gets uninhibited and loses the mental censor most of us have in our mouths. Without it, all thoughts flow out just as they appear in your mind. You're an open book, for what it's worth. Tonight as he was getting ready for bed I heard him singing, uh, maybe a Beatles' tune. These were the words I could make out:

"Duke, I'm so glad I have you in my life
Because I'm shy and you're my best friend
We'll always have each other
1, 2, 3, 4, alright, alright
All (something something something) . . . sleep . . . (something something something)"

And after the vet today, when Dr. Fairchild told us that it wouldn't be a problem to take the offending papiloma off Duke's leg if Andy were there because he behaves so much better in Andy's arms: "I'm basically his favourite that means."

Yes, and mine too.