Love In The Time of Cholera

Good Morning Everyone. I hope you are enjoying a beautiful autumn day where you are. As we are discussing love today, I'm afraid the title of this post has nothing to do with the book LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA. It is, I'm afraid, a misnomer.
(Although I have heard that book is fantastic.)

You see, I've been sick. Very sick, as a matter of fact, since last Monday. It is that time of year when the weather changes, and living in the foothills of the Piedmont, the temperature goes down at night, and then during the day it gets hot. However, when the breezes blow, they whisper cold.

And that is what I got. A cold. Only I never get the common cold, where one can function normally, albeit slowly. NOOOO, I get a cold, then a sinus infection, then an ear infection, then either bronchitis, or pneumonia.

I knew it was coming, I could feel it last Sunday night, that little tickle in the back of my throat. I immediately called my mother to make me a pot of chicken soup, which she did. But it didn't help. Monday morning, I woke to a scratchy throat, funny eyes, pain in the head, and an all-over funky disposition.

I hate being sick, I mean, really, who enjoys snots, aches and pains, and coughing til you puke. I hate it though because I can't do anything. And because of my inability to remain in bed, I push myself to do the things that need doing, therefore getting sicker.

Tuesday morning, barely able to move, I called the doctor, who thankfully had an opening at 11:30. I stumbled into her office, plead my case for a Z-pac, which she sympathetically bestowed upon me, and I made it back to my house and into my bed where I remained for the next four days.

I haven't been quite this sick in a very long time. My mother thought I had contracted the flu. I refused to believe that, but suffered through flu-like symptoms for 2 days. I could not move. I won't bore you with the details of my illness, but I will tell you, at least the flu is good for something. I lost eight pounds.

Now, The Monster was sick as well, though she only had a cold, so she pretty much had the run of the house while I was down. My mother took her for the first part of my malaise so I was left alone to fend for myself. I did nothing but remain in bed, too sick to even watch tv.

When The Monster came back, so did her father. He stayed with us while I was down, which was a blessing. I could at least be assured she was eating on a regular basis. However, he did not once offer to feed me. Or get me water, or Tylenol, or even do the dishes.

When I emerged from my sickroom on day four, only wanting to take a shower and crawl back under clean sheets, I found the kitchen a dumping ground for every single dish, pot, pan, and glass from the cupboards. I then made my way downstairs to the laundry room to put the dirty sheets in the washer and found a pile of clothes on the laundry room floor a mile high.

What is it about men and their inability to do anything when someone is sick? He said, "But I didn't want to mess up the laundry. You know how I shrank all your stuff the last time." Which was true, but no matter how you try, you can't shrink towels. And the dishes? "Well, you hate the way I load the dishwasher and I didn't want to piss you off on top of being sick." And I do hate the way he loads the dishwasher, but I think I might have let that one go as I was on my way back to bed.

What is it about men, that they do not seem to possess a compassionate bone in their body? Or is it just my particular man? Come to think on it though, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of any of my former men waiting on me when I was sick. Not one glass of water, not one Tylenol, not one hand brushed against my forehead.

And now, he's sick. Yes, I knew he would get it eventually. He's upstairs in the guest bed, fever, chills, coughing his lungs up. I've given him Tylenol, cough syrup, chicken soup, orange juice, water, cough drops (the good kind), checked his temp -- 101.9, gotten him another blanket, another pillow, a box of Kleenex.

Now I know why women are nurses.

Tell me -- Does your man help when you're down and out? Or do you get up and deal with the family because you know he won't? Is he a total baby when he's sick, or does he grab a couple of pills and head off to work?

PS I am feeling much better now, thank you very much. Getting ready for the cocktail party which I hope you will all attend. Details coming soon.