Together in sickness and good times

I remember the day Jamie and I moved into our first apartment together. It was a tiny one-bedroom place on the third floor of an old building downtown. The walls were a bit scuffed, and the floors creaked with every step, but it was ours, and we loved it.

We spent that first day unpacking boxes and arguing about where to put the couch. Jamie wanted it by the window, but I thought it would be better against the far wall. In the end, we compromised and put it diagonally in the corner. It looked weird, but we both pretended it was perfect.

Life was good. We were just starting out, figuring out our routines and enjoying the small victories. Like when we managed to cook a decent meal together without burning it or when we finally found that missing sock from the laundry.

But life isn’t all about the good times. A few months in, Jamie started feeling off. At first, we thought it was just a bad cold. But when it didn’t go away, we went to the doctor. The diagnosis was something more serious—a chronic illness that would be with us for the long haul.

I remember sitting in the sterile doctor’s office, holding Jamie’s hand as the doctor explained what this would mean. Medications, lifestyle changes, and a lot of adjustments. It was overwhelming, but as we walked out of that office, I knew we’d face it together.

The next few months were tough. Jamie had days where getting out of bed was a victory, and other days where everything felt almost normal. We learned to adapt. I became an expert at making bland, nutritious meals that wouldn’t upset Jamie’s stomach, and Jamie mastered the art of patience and resilience.

We had a lot of doctor’s appointments, and sometimes it felt like we were spending more time in waiting rooms than in our own living room. But even in those moments, we found ways to make each other laugh. We’d people-watch, making up silly backstories for the other patients, or play endless rounds of “Would You Rather.”

One particularly rough night, Jamie was feeling really low. The pain and fatigue were getting to be too much, and there was a sense of hopelessness hanging in the air. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat beside Jamie on the bed, holding their hand.

“We’re in this together,” I said softly. “In sickness and in good times, right?”

Jamie squeezed my hand, a small smile breaking through the pain. “Right. Together.”

We made it a mantra. On the hardest days, we’d remind each other that we were a team. When things got overwhelming, we’d find small ways to celebrate life—a cozy movie night, a walk in the park, or just sitting on our weirdly placed couch and talking.

Of course, there were good times too. Jamie started feeling better as the new treatment kicked in. We took a trip to the beach, something we hadn’t done in ages. I still remember the look on Jamie’s face, pure joy as we splashed in the waves and collected shells along the shore.

We learned to cherish the good days even more because we knew how precious they were. We laughed louder, loved harder, and held onto each other through every twist and turn.

Years later, we’re still in that same old apartment. The walls are even more scuffed, and the floors are still as creaky as ever. We’ve added a few pieces of furniture and a lot of memories. Our couch is still in that diagonal corner, a quirky reminder of our first compromise.

We’ve had our share of challenges, but we’ve also had countless moments of joy. Through it all, we’ve learned that being together in sickness and in good times isn’t just about being there physically—it’s about supporting each other, finding strength in each other, and never losing sight of the love that brought us together in the first place.

And so, in our little apartment with its creaky floors and oddly placed couch, we continue to face life together, knowing that no matter what comes our way, we’ll get through it side by side.