My husband has a notable case of a semi-debilitating disease called A.D.D. A disease for which he has yet to be treated. I had no idea what I was getting into when I married him. I mean, I knew he was a creative genius, but I didn't have a clue as to what that would look like on a day to day basis.
I don't think I need to explain what it's like. He's already done that. He has a doctor's appointment today because of a cruddy cold, and we both decided it would be a good idea to get the doc to refer him to an adult A.D.D. diagnostic center. The quack shack at Rice won't give him drugs for A.D.D. unless he's been officially diagnosed.
So, after our morning search for his ever-elusive wallet (which we found in his coat pocket), he hurries out the door, running late and frusterated about it. I walk him to the door like a good little wife, offer a loving "be careful", and then, as I close the door, holler after him as he's walking to his car,
"Don't forget to ask about the A.D.D."
Well, there's hope. There's always hope.