The Invalid

“I have a disease in my stomach.” She spoke softly and did not meet her husband’s eyes. “Sometimes, I cough…blood. Other times, I get aches that won’t allow me to leave bed. Other things happen as well. But it is of no importance.”
Margaret fell into her chair and straightened her skirt.
“No importance?” Philip asked. He walked over to her and kneeled. “How is this of no importance?”
“Oh, Philip. I have come to the conclusion that there isn’t anything I can do. Why would I fuss and pout about it? It’s of no impo-“
Shh. A hushed plea for mercy came from his lips. Margaret stopped and took a deep breath, a boisterous cough coming after it.
“We can find a solution, Gigi.” He said holding on to her hands. His expression was softer.“There must be something we can do.” He looked at his wife with wide lovingness. Like a steel door closing in the hope he felt, Margaret unleashed from his grasp and stood.
“Why? What is the point, Philip?” She began to yell. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Don’t you think I looked for ways to get better? I want to think differently. I tried to! But with each day I am sick, comes the final verdict that I. am. Sick. Sick to the point where it hurts to feel any better.” Her voice rung so loud, she ran out of breath and fell onto the sofa. Philip rushed to her side.
Margaret worried for breath ,began to fan herself. Her head bobbed around like a small toy and she could not find focus. She felt her insides squeeze together like an accordion and then release in a painful collapse. The boisterous coughing began and she shut her eyes desperately.
Philip, having never seen his wife this way, looked for a way to help her. But everytime he touched her, with each moan of pain and cringe she let out, a piece of Philip’s heart broke into pieces.
When the sun was completely down, Margaret’s aches began to die down and she could move once again. Seldomly, helping her, Philip held her waist as they made their way the bedroom, where he gently (as gently could be for a veteran soldier) placed her on the bed.
“Thank you.” She said. A croaking sound came after and she nestled in the soft and waited.
Still up and seeing his wife resting, Philip went to the kitchen to brew coffee. Suddenly, the phone rang.
“Allo, this is Philip DeMarcier.” He answered.
“This is Dr. Renois. I meant to check in earlier, but the clinic has been busy all day.”
“It’s alright, monsieur.”
“How is she? Has she told you?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good.”
Silence.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Is there anything that can be done? She cannot live this way.” Philip said in a whisper. He peeked into the open door, where laid his wife.
“I have discussed with your wife all the treatments. So far she has refused for me to do any of them.”
“Has she said why?”
“At this point, you would have a better guess than I.” Silence. Dr. Renois spoke again. “Monsieur?”
“Yes.”
“It would be wise to persuade your wife to get checked more often. She hasn’t come in a year and I do wish to see how she is doing. ”
“I don’t think this will be possible. She might be too sick. It would be better if you came here.”
“If it’s what’s best for her.”
“It is what’s best for her.”
“I shall come tomorrow, then. At noon.” He said.
“Thank you. Goodbye, doctor.”
“Oh! Monsieur, do talk to her. She has been quiet lonely for the past year. It would be good to get as to why she refuses any treatments.”
“Goodbye, monsieur.”
“Goodbye.”
Philip hung up the phone and sighed. He leaned against the counter and pulled out a cigarette box and a lighter.
“Darling.” He heard a soft voice speak beside him. Margaret was out of bed and leaning against the wall. “You shouldn’t smoke…inside.”
Philip began to ask why, but realized what she meant and put them away.
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect.” She said and smiled. Her eyes met his for the first time since he had been home. Philip noticed how different they were. How sad her eyes had become. Once they were deep brown orbs that made him feel warm and loved, but now they were like one of a stray dog on the street. They looked abandoned and broken, almost resentful. A blanket of sorrow covered them. Margaret pulled herself away from their gaze and went to the stove.
“I was making a cup.” He said and went to help her.
“Philip, I can do this myself. I’m not an invalid.” She said and he let go of the pot. He muttered an apology and went to sit at the dining chair. He watched his wife pour the coffee into mugs and cut some coffee cake onto plates. He tried to see her the way he had always seen her, but even this innocent task that he had loved seeing her do before was different. The only word he could think to describe it with was the one she denied…invalid.