Saturday, December 17, 2011

A sneeze is just a sneeze. And then it’s not. Damnit.

(This is the post I wrote at 5:00 this morning. When I was feeling quite like a superhuman superstar. Hey, at 5:00 in the morning, there’s no one around to argue with me, okay??)

When my husband sneezes, he’s catching the mother of all colds. When I sneeze, it’s dusty.

When Whit gets sick, no symptom is minor. “My entire body aches like it’s going through a meat grinder. It’s awful. It’s so painful. I can barely move.” When I get sick, no symptom exists. “Oh, that raised red rash all over my body? My swollen tongue? Perhaps anaphylaxis, perhaps I’m just tired.”

When Whit gets sick, his schedule is cleared so he can lie in bed and moan. When I get sick, I *might* skip the 6 am run I had planned.

When Whit gets sick, he needs a prescription. Written by a doctor. Even sugar pills will cure him as long as they come from behind a pharmacist’s counter. When I get sick, I dig a dusty Advil from the bottom of my purse and swallow it dry.

When Whit gets sick, he issues a self-imposed quarantine. "Can’t get you kids sick. Stay away. I’m not sure what I have, but it could be bad." When I get sick, I cough into my elbow, purell my hands often and kiss the tops of little heads rather than their cheeks.

When Whit gets sick, he needs the sick comfort groceries of his childhood. Gatorade. Ginger Ale. Doritos. When I get sick, I’m still the one doing the grocery shopping.

When Whit gets sick, he wants meals served in bed. When I get sick, I skip meals and then step on the scale with delight.

So I wrote that. Feeling quite satisfied with my toughness and his baby-ness.

Then, at 7:00 this morning, I got tired of all the above.

Then I started googling meningitis. And a few other diseases. You give me NIGHTMARES,

Then I suggested he head down the street to our friendly neighborhood ER.

I thought they would say "viral" or "faker" or "strep" and we’d be done with it.


Pneumonia...they want to admit him...IV...flu?...dehydration...blah blah blah...


Is "neglectful and arrogant wife" grounds for divorce?

Sorry, honey. You just lie there. Can I get you some more Gatorade? Make you some soup, perhaps?? Fluff your pillows?

Yeah, I’ll never live this one down. And next time I get sick, you know I can't complain, even once.


  1. After your lack of empathy today you will NEVER receive sympathy from me if you get sick.

  2. I told DH to stop whining once. Turns out he had MRSA. Score!