I have this fear that my father, my husband’s priest (also a Father), or one of my doctors will stop by and see this “toilet paper” post sitting big and bold on the site. That’s OK. Must share the observation.
Last week, my husband came home with toilet paper. No big deal, right? Actually, it was a HUGE deal. At the height of my fibroid symptoms, I would normally ask for toilet paper at least once a week. My husband would hand it all to me prompting me to ask:
You mean you don’t need ANY?
Of course, the answer was always no and my reply:
What are you doing? Using one square? Standing up and getting into the shower? Why do you still have toilet paper?
He just laughed and I would carry the cherished rolls up the stairs and place them in their same temporary spot. Repeated this ritual every single week. Now after treatment, I don’t have to ask. My husband comes home with toilet paper because he needs toilet paper. Not me. One small task (the purchase of TP) translates into such a tremendous victory.
Didn’t need any but I still took a few and bounded upstairs. I threw open the closet door, stacked new rolls on top of old, and stood back to admire my elaborate pyramid. (Sniff, sniff)…It was beautiful.
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