Berry Mauve or Muted Wine?

I just want to share this nice story...

Berry Mauve or Muted Wine?
By T. Suzanne Eller

He found me weeping bitterly in the hospital room. "What's wrong?"
Richard asked, knowing that we both had reason to cry. In the past
forty-eight hours, I learned that I had a cancerous lump in my breast
that had spread to my lymph nodes, and there was a possible spot on my
brain. We were both thirty-two with three young children.
Richard pulled me tight and tried to comfort me. Our friends and
family had been amazed at the peace that had overwhelmed us. Jesus was
our Savior and comfort before I found out I had cancer, and he remained
the same after my diagnosis. But it seemed to Richard that the
terrifying reality of my situation had finally crashed in on me in the
few moments he was out of the room.
As he held me tight, Richard tried to comfort me. "It's all been
too much, hasn't it Suz?" he said.
"That's not it," I cried and held up the hand mirror I had just
found in the drawer. Richard looked puzzled.
"I didn't know it would be like this," I cried, as I stared in
shock at my reflection in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself. I was
horribly swollen. After the surgery, I had groaned as I lay asleep and
well-meaning friends had freely pushed the self-dispensing medication to
ease what they thought was pain. Unfortunately I was allergic to
morphine and had swelled like a sausage. Betadine from the surgery
stained my neck, shoulder and chest and it was too soon for a bath. A
tube hung out of my side draining the fluid from the surgical site. My
left shoulder and chest were wrapped tightly in gauze where I had lost a
portion of my breast. My long, curly hair was matted into one big wad.
More than one hundred people had come to see me over the past
forty-eight hours, and they had all seen this brown-and-white, swollen,
makeup-less, matted-haired, gray-gowned woman who used to be me. Where
had I gone?
Richard laid me back on the pillow and left the room. Within
moments he came back, his arms laden with small bottles of shampoo and
conditioner that he confiscated from the cart in the hall. He pulled
pillows out of the closet and dragged a chair over to the sink.
Unraveling my IV, he tucked the long tube from my side in his shirt
pocket. Then he reached down, picked me up and carried me - IV stand
and all - over to the chair. He sat me down gently on his lap, cradled
my head in his arms over the sink and began to run warm water through my
hair. He poured the bottles over my hair, washing and conditioning my
long curls. He wrapped my hair in a towel and carried me, the tube, and
the IV stand back over to the bed. He did this so gently that not one
stitch was disturbed.
My husband, who had never blow-dried his hair in his life, took out
a blow-dryer and dried my hair, the whole while entertaining me as he
pretended to give beauty tips. He then proceeded, based on the
experience of watching me for the past twelve years, to fix my hair. I
laughed as he bit his lip, more serious than any beauty-school student.
He bathed my shoulder and neck with a warm washcloth, careful to not
disturb the area around the surgery, and rubbed lotion into my skin.
Then he opened my makeup bag and began to apply makeup. I will never
forget our laughter as he tried to apply my mascara and blush. I opened
my eyes wide and held my breath as he brushed the mascara on my lashes
with shaking hands. He rubbed my cheeks with tissue to blend in the
blush. With the last touch, he held up two lipsticks. "Which one?
Berry mauve or muted wine?" he asked. He applied the lipstick like an
artist painting on a canvas and then held the little mirror in front of me.
I was human again. A little swollen, but I smelled clean, my hair
hung softly over my shoulders and I recognized myself.
"What do you think?" he asked. I began to cry again, this time
because I was grateful. "No, baby. You'll mess up my makeup job," he
said and I burst into laughter.
During that difficult time in our lives, I was given only a 40
percent chance of survival over five years. That was seven years ago.
I made it through those years with laughter, God's comfort and the help
of my wonderful husband. We will celebrate our nineteenth anniversary
this year, and our children are now in their teens. Richard understood
what must have seemed like vanity and silliness in the midst of
tragedy. Everything I had ever taken for granted had been shaken in
those hours - the fact that I would watch my children grow, my health,
my future. With one small act of kindness, Richard gave me normalcy. I
will always see that moment as one of the most loving gestures of our
marriage.

Thats really a cute story

That's so cute.

That's soooo sweet  
Makes me think of the type of love and support my husband has given me over the past 5 years no matter what...

I was moved by this story and I even cried!   I'm glad you all liked it.

aww... i can't handle stories like that in my emotional status! lol.. it was really nice and of course i cried too!! thanks for sharing