I’ve written before — and some of my readers might say, "Too much" — about my feelings for Jennifer. About how much I love her. About how much I adore her. About how strong I feel our relationship is. And so on. Read my November 6, 2000 entry on the subject, and believe me when I say that that particular entry is probably the best expression of my feelings.

Jennifer and I have been dating for just over six months now, and we’ve had many moments of close intimacy and bonding. But Sunday night marked a new stage in our relationship, one that I never have reached with anyone else before. One which is truly meaningful for both of us.

But first, a bit of backstory. Not much, I promise.

We decided some months ago that this was going to be our last year celebrating Thanksgiving with our separate families. We could have opted to spend Thanksgiving together with her family or with mine, and neither family would have objected; but it seemed best not to do so for one last year. So on Wednesday night, I drove down to San Jose, spent a few wonderful days with my parents, my sister (and her new boyfriend), my aunt and my uncle, and had a great time. On Saturday my mom informed me that she was essentially kicking me out; in years past I’ve stayed with them until the last possible moment on Sunday evening; but, then, I’ve never really had a strong reason to return home. Now, I couldn’t wait to get back home to see Jennifer again. My mom, wise woman that she is, sensed that and told me that it was perfectly okay for me to leave early. My dad put up a token objection (more in jest than anything else), and my mom replied, "I’m kicking him out!" To which my dad replied, "Well, that’s all right then."

So late Saturday night, after dinner with my sister and her new boyfriend, I drove back up here to Woodland and came home to be with Jennifer again. I’d missed her terribly.

The next morning, Jennifer woke up early with a stomach flu. She’d awakened earlier to throw up, and… Well, let’s just say that the rest of that day was not a pleasant one for her.

When the stomach cramps started up, I asked her if she wanted to go to the emergency room. She told me no, she’d be fine. So I let her lie, bringing her water or soda when she asked for it, and I spent the day reading. In the early evening I got hungry and decided to go to a cafe to get something to eat and do some writing. As I left the parking lot, I called Jennifer on my cell phone and asked her if she wanted me to pick up anything for her on the way home.

"No", she said. But then she told me that she was feeling really bad, and that she thought she should probably go to the hospital after all.

I drove home quickly, visions of abdominal cancer and civil ceremonies in December (instead of our planned ceremony in July) flying through my head, and got to Jennifer’s bedside. I called the advice line listed on her insurance card, and went through her symptoms; and something about tenderness in Jennifer’s abdomen caused the advice nurse to say, "I’m recommending that you take her to the emergency room.

So I did. Nurses and doctors poked and prodded at her and said that she was probably suffering from a virus, possibly a parasitical infection. No idea where that could have come from, of course, and it was really unlikely. Nevertheless, the doctor wanted a stool sample for laboratory analysis, just in case.

Unfortunately, Jennifer could not produce a sample for testing. "Well, that’s all right," the nurse said cheerfully. "Just take this pan and these vials home with you tonight, and collect it yourself. Then bring it back here to the lab later tonight."

Ugh.

Double ugh.

The thought of collecting a stool sample from myself is nauseating. The thought of collecting someone else’s is even more so. But Jennifer is Jennifer and I love her, so I was willing.

Honest to God, that nurse had no right to be that cheerful.

We got home, and Jennifer informed me that she would spare me the thrill of collecting a sample, and that she was willing to do it herself. I asked the token "AreyousurebecauseI’mwillingtodoithoneyokaynoproblemyougoaheadandthankGod?" and let her have at it. When she was done, she handed me three little vials in a plastic bag.

"These have to go to the hospital lab," she said.

I took the bag with two fingers. "Ew," I said. The idea of taking this plastic bag and what it contains in my brand new car to the hospital was, honestly… well, not too pleasant.

But, this is Jennifer, and I love her. So, of course, I did it. I took the bag, and the samples therein, in my brand new car, to the hospital. I handed it to the laboratory technician, saying sarcastically, "I’ve brought some treats!" The lab tech, to her credit, didn’t even blink when she opened the bag and looked at the samples. "Oh, okay," she said. "This is perfect."

Perfect. That’s what she said.

So, to all you men out there who think you’re truly in love with your mates, I ask you this: do you really love her? How far are you willing to go for her? Will you feed her cats? Will you wash her car? Fix her computer? Deliver her fecal matter to the hospital? You have to think about these things carefully, especially if you’re considering marriage.

I’ve said that one of the reasons why I love Jennifer is because she won’t take shit from me. Apparently, the reverse can’t be said now, because, after all, I’ve proven that I’m quite willing to take shit from her.

And, furthermore, I’m even willing to take it to the hospital. And I’d do it again.