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My husband is a wonderful man. For the past eight years he has fulfilled all the vows of marriage with grace, love and empathy. When things were good, we celebrated. When things were bad, we consoled.

The last four years have been focused primarily on me, because of my extended illnesses. My husband slowly became my caregiver, a job that is full-time and exhausting. Meanwhile, he had to maintain his full-time job and take over all the household chores I used to do.

Caregivers sometimes become superhuman. Not only do they take care of a person totally, but they are also expected to keep a sunny smile, have all their needs met invisibly and be completely flexible. Doctors rely on them for word on the progress or failure of their patient. Family members and friends request they keep the patient comfortable and happy, hoping for miracles only Jesus himself could deliver.

Hubby wasn't encouraged to be my care-giver. Many people told us of the dangers of becoming too intimate, knowing too much to keep his desire for me. His co-workers tried to give him as much space as they could, but ultimately some resentment came to the surface, placing more pressure on his shoulders, because his job paid for our health insurance.

Sometimes my three grown children would pitch in, scheduling duties each one would perform. But if they failed to show up on the designated day, hubby had to fill in and lose his much-needed downtime.

He was torn into pieces trying to do right by his employer, his family and especially himself. He knew if he didn't get some time away from washing laundry, cooking or cleaning the house, he wouldn't be able to take care of me in the way I needed.

We were fortunate to have a primary care physician who would talk to my husband privately after my appointments. They would e-mail each other if a question arose or if my husband needed to let off steam. Having such an outlet is rare in the medical world, where doctors are forced to carry huge case loads to pay for their overhead. We were fortunate to have a doctor who controlled his practice for the benefit of his patients and himself.

My husband took a few four-day weekends away from me. My kids took over, and it was better for the both of us. He worked with his employer to arrange a four-month leave after my surgery to assist in my recovery and have one of his own. He's back to work now, and I'm still learning how to live with the permanent changes that have made me a bit more disabled.

I'll never be what I was when we met, but we both grew closer and know what we're capable of. Time to celebrate.