Let's start from the beginning. It's no secret that my marriage has been much shakier since Sam's arrival, though it wasn't precisely his arrival only that did the shaking; it was more the sudden realization that neither of us was listening to each other. We've talked, we've argued, we've hugged and made up, then fought some more. Things have gotten much better, but they're still pretty rough. Finally, two days ago, I sat back and mused upon the words that the rector had spoken at our wedding: "Carrie, God made you for Eric; Eric, God made you for Carrie." If I was made for Eric, then he really deserves better than what I'm giving him, I thought to myself. I decided at that moment to work harder to be the wife he truly deserved. Even when he yelled, he didn't deserve my screaming in return; when he spoke, even if I didn't want to hear his words, he deserved to be heard. I was going to work on being the wife Eric was worth.

Yes, this sounds like a no-brainer. Bear with me.

Two days ago, Saturday night, we got a phone call. Rita was home from the hospital, and she had a diagnosis: congestive heart failure. She didn't really have much more information, but she was on some new medication and the swelling in her legs had dissipated. The mood was somber in our bedroom that night as we went to sleep. I tried to imagine Sam's future and how we might tell him about the grandmother he may not remember.

On Sunday, Eric had chest pains.

I've written before about how much of a hypochondriac Eric is. Little twinges and pains make him wonder about cancer and neuropathy. Now, he is a diabetic, so I've given him leeway to worry, but I grow irritated when he asks me to probe his throat and tell him if everything feels normal - for the hundredth time. You can imagine, therefore, that my first thoughts upon hearing of his pains were less than credulous. His mom has heart problems, and suddenly Eric's chest was hurting? Too easy.

And yet...

Didn't Eric deserve to be believed? His pains were worth my care, regardless of past history. If it was my chest that was hurting, I would certainly not want my worry to be discounted. And he had been feeling ill for the week prior to this.

I told Eric that we should go to the emergency room if he was really concerned. He seemed doubtful, but his panic won out. By four-thirty, we were in an urgent care exam room in the ER, where Eric was having an EKG, chest X-rays, and bloodwork. Sam charmed the nurses, and together we read magazines and waited for results. After a while, the baby began to fuss, so I sang him to sleep in the sling.

Finally, around nine o'clock, a doctor came and talked to Eric. "Your EKG and X-rays were normal, and your enzymes were all right. You did not have a heart attack. If I were a betting man, I'd say that this was not your heart. I can't say that with one hundred percent certainty, though, so we'd like to admit you and do a stress test tomorrow morning."

My resolution began to waver once more. He was okay! It was in his head! Why should he spend the night in the hospital when there was clearly nothing wrong with him? "Honey, you could always go home and come back tomorrow morning for the test."

He didn't say anything. I looked at his worried face and sighed inwardly. He was so concerned about his health; I should be, too, or at least open to his concerns. I went home to get his apnea machine while he was wheeled upstairs to the cardiac floor. When he was settled in, Sam and I went home and slept restlessly until early this morning, when we got up and went back to the hospital.

Eric's stress test went well. Nothing is wrong with his heart. The pains in his chest were likely gas-related, and they've been steadily disappearing as he "expels" the gas. So...I was right, and he was wrong?

No. This has nothing to do with right and wrong. This is about trust and communication. Regardless of whether or not Eric was seriously ill, he thought he was ill, and he needed me to be there for him, to comfort and support him, to listen to him. I did better this time than I have in the past. Maybe next time I won't have to work so hard.

Eric put his old stuffed "Rodney Reindeer" on Sam's head and snapped a picture when I wasn't looking. I think he looks like some sort of bizarre chieftain.