It’s a dark afternoon in Mudville, and I’m not talking about baseball.  Wayne is in pain, bad, bad back pain with a bulging disk.  To put it mildly, when my husband is hurting he isn’t exactly Mr. Personality.  My job is to get him to doctor appointments, medical tests, pick up prescriptions and offer him lots of sympathy.  Oh, and cook him all his favorite meals, too, and to bring him whatever he wants or needs.  It would be even better if I were a mind reader so I could anticipate his needs, but alas I am not.  One thing I’ve discovered about myself:  I am no Florence Nightingale.  I fear that another week of this and I’ll turn into Nurse Ratched.   Pray for me, friends.  Pray hard!