Those of you who have pegged this as a Mars/Venus dilemma with the woman as the Venus empathizer and the man as the Mars problem solver are only partially right. There are times when Richard wants a cuddle and to be told that I feel for his pain; and there are times when all I want is to have him fix the damn [fill in the blank -- usually it's computer or toilet].

The other night I was getting stressed over an upcoming business trip that will involve about 15 hours of travel time. I am not the road warrior I used to be pre-illness. Airplane travel flicks some neurological switch and I start to feel blips of pain. If the flight is shorter than 6 hours, I can ride out the blips. If the flight pushes into the double digits, pain wins -- unless I medicate myself into another dimension, which I hate doing.
So I was moaning and bemoaning. I wanted to go on this trip, but I feared the physical repercussions. And I hated that I had to factor them into the situation at all.
I could see Richard's posture stiffen in the way that it does when he is not sure of how to respond and doesn't want to say the wrong thing. I was too immersed in my worry spin to know what I wanted, much less provide him with any cues.
He handled the situation beautifully. He said:
"My instinct is to jump in and problem solve and tell you ways I think you could deal with this, but I'm not sure that's what you want. So I'll just tell you that I see that this is causing you such stress, and I truly feel for you and want to help you any way I can. I have some ideas I can share with you when you want them."
Like Golde said to Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof:

"If that's not love, what is?"
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