Dave is sick. Like really sick. Fever. Aches. Sore throat. Coughing. Can't speak. And seems to have some sort of limp?
Anyway, whenever I ask him about the illness and try to get a sense of its progression, he only responds with nonspecific and dramatic statements such as, "I have death," or "I can barely survive." This. From a doctor.
And in those moments, I'm reminded of all of the times that I have been sick in similar ways, and Dave, who shows me immense support and love in so many other ways, has given me a nonplussed, "huh," or a dull, "interesting," when I describe my pain.
Or I think about that time I had mastitis in my breast and needed to back out of a concert we had planned on attending, and he asked incredulously, "What do you mean you're not going?"
So I'm trying really hard to feel appropriately sorry for Dave while he blows his nose next to me on the couch, but mostly I'm keeping my distance so that, if I'm lucky, I won't have to be on the other end of this in a day or two.
4 comments:
I've always thought that I would be in heaven if I had my own doctor in the house, but your stories show me that the truth might be otherwise. It's kind of perplexing.
Bottom Line: I hope Dave is well soon and I hope you stay well, as well.
I appreciate that he uses the phrase "I have death." My hope is that you and the kids don't get this death.
Having a doctor in the house is WONDERFUL when your kiddos are sick. Last night, for example, when Sam's chest cold made it hard for him to breathe, Dave knew just what to do. Nebulizer, hot shower, and some leftover steroids from this same illness three or four months ago.
He just refuses to feel sorry for me when I'm sick. Even though I try pretty hard to make it happen.
I find that Dan only feels sorry for me if I'm hospitalized. Maybe try a disfiguring facial infection close to the brain?
Post a Comment