Before-bed read

After a divorce and painful medical diagnosis, Linda Defew was left feeling stressed and hopeless. Then a wrong number led to the wake-up call that changed everything

The day we got married, Eddie included one unique promise in his vows to me: “Linda,

I will take care of you, no matter what. You’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

In tears, I said, “I do” to the most caring man I had ever known. Twenty-one years later, I still feel the same way.

At 34, my hopes of ever finding a good man were diminished. I was divorced, with two young children, little or no child support and a recent diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis. Who would want to marry me with all my problems?

I grew more pessimistic as time went on. The disease that destroyed my joints was relentless. Within five years, my hands showed major signs of deformity, and my knees swelled so badly, I could hardly walk. The same type of arthritis that had crippled my uncle and grandfather had hit me hard.

When medications failed to work as they should, my doctor made a very simple suggestion: “Try taking stress out of your life.”

I knew he was right, but it seemed impossible. Still, I tried to follow his advice. I quit focusing on what I couldn’t do and started looking for what I could. I pushed myself to stay busy by going back to college and working part-time for my church. That’s when I met Eddie.

It started with a wrong number. Eddie explained that he was trying to call my ex-husband about a truck he had for sale. His number was listed in the phone book right after mine, so Eddie accidentally called me—a mistake I would later chalk up to fate. That began a nightly phone ritual that would last for weeks.

I looked forward to hearing his enthusiastic, optimistic voice. His positive attitude and love for life were contagious. His years as chief of police in our small town left him with a million real-life stories to tell. One was personal—a near-fatal gunshot wound. I had heard about it when it happened five years earlier, but I assumed he had made a full recovery. Instead, he told me he nearly lost his arm and was still dealing with the repercussions. His honesty made it easier to talk to him about my own life experiences.

So I told him all about my life, painful divorce and the dreadful disease that followed on its heels. I explained how I was the “lucky” one—the only family member in my generation to inherit RA. He didn’t seem too bothered by the prognosis. He doesn’t realize I could end up in a wheelchair, I told myself. I will save that for later.

Sometimes he failed to call at the usual time. That brought on a million doubts. He’s had second thoughts, I surmised. Realizing I might be headed for a big disappointment, the time came to end the waiting game. Meeting him face-to-face would be the ultimate test. One of us had to break the ice.

The next day, I asked him to come over for supper. He hesitated and then agreed. I was so nervous. I spent all afternoon preparing a meal for a man who had a reputation for the best barbecue in town. It had to be perfect.

He arrived on time, dressed casually. He had a nice smile and a clean, manly scent. My heart thumped out of my chest for the first 30 minutes. Since we had gotten to know each other over the phone, our conversation picked up where it had left off. Being in his company reminded me how much I missed having a man in my life, but I cautioned myself not to get too excited. There were lots of perfectly healthy single women out there.

I was used to hiding my hands under the dining table, forcing myself not to limp, and pushing myself up

“Realizing I might be headed for a big disappointment, the time came to end the waiting game. Meeting him faceto-face would be the ultimate test.”

out of a chair with my hands. He seemed not to notice the things that made me insecure, and instead he complimented my looks. He also couldn’t quit praising the chicken casserole and coleslaw. I had found the way to this man’s heart!

I listened patiently as he told me the story of the night he was shot and nearly died. “I’ve got an ugly scar,” he said, “and a lot of pain.”

Now it was my turn to come clean. “I may end up in a wheelchair.”

“So?” he said. He took my small, disfigured hands in his. “I believe in taking life one day at a time and living it like it’s my last.”

I took a deep breath and felt relief wash over me. “Me too.” I had spent far too much time worrying about the future.

Two years later, Eddie is my husband, best friend and caregiver. Together, we face the future with optimism, knowing there will always be highs and lows. I am thankful for brief periods of remission between my lengthy flare-ups. Surgeries to correct joint damage plus a hip and knee replacement have become part of the battle. One surgeon told my husband, “Rheumatoid arthritis is terminal. She’ll live and die with it.” To that, my husband responded, “So what? Life is terminal too.”

When I am at my worst, Eddie keeps up my spirits. There’s no time for pity parties at our house. We always have a plan and new goals. Even when I can’t participate in a project, I’m his cheerleader. I sit on the sidelines whether we’re planting a garden or building a barn—slow to give orders, but quick to inspire.

He never complains about helping me with things I used to take for granted: dressing, showering, shampooing, brushing my hair. In fact, he loves it when my hair turns out just right or the tennis shoes he bought me give me more balance. He laughs and tells our friends he never knew he would run a beauty shop or do the job of a shoe salesman. His sense of humor makes a bad situation not so bad.

Due to the crippling in my hands, I’m always dropping things throughout the house. He responds in a lighthearted way, “I know where you’ve been, sugar,” he says as he enters the room and starts picking up. “All I’ve got to do is follow your trail.”

He knows what it’s like to suffer and he understands how hard it is to keep on keeping on. He pushes me to be the best I can be and asks no more of me than he asks of himself. Because of that, I try to make his life easier by giving it all I’ve got.

So far, my trips in a wheelchair have been few. Sometimes, a walker or a cane has come in handy, but most of the time, when I’m unsure of the next step, I just hold on to Eddie’s outstretched arm. It’s always there. When I’m by his side, he’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. And, without a doubt, I’m a stronger woman because of him.