First off, I want to apologize for being a whining little bitch. My last post is existing proof that sick people should not be allowed near WordPress, especially when feeling sorry for themselves. I was depressed about my state of health and the dilemma over whether or not I could miss work, and I threw that anxiety up all over the internets. Sorry internets. I’ll go get the Resolve.
As it turned out, I work for two very cool bosses for whom my health and well-being is a priority, and whom were supportive of my decision to take the last two days to rest and get myself back in working order. So after two days parked on the couch armed with orange juice and tissues, my body no longer feels like death and my mind no longer feels like I’m five.
Of course, I can’t credit my new-found health and vigor entirely on the rest and vitamin C. (And the bad day-time television; I truly believe that a major part of anyone’s recovery should be shamelessly terrible day-time television.) There was a big turn-around in the way I was feeling when my husband, Kyle, walked in the door, sniffling and coughing. Shortly after dinner, he holed himself up in the bedroom, complaining that he felt tired, like he might be coming down with something.
And that‘s when my energy came back. Suddenly, I had a purpose, and a duty. Kyle’s been wonderful these last two days, taking care of me, getting me whatever I needed, petting and comforting me. And now it’s my turn. My man is sick, and by god, I’m going to nurse him back to health if it kills me!
And suddenly I found the energy to pull myself off the couch and begin puttering around the kitchen. I wanted to make him tea, find him another blanket, cuddle him, stroke his hair; I wanted to be be comfort for him.
Unfortunately, Kyle is not the kind who likes to be fretted over when sick. In fact, he doesn’t really like to be fretted over at all. About ten minutes of me mothering over him and Kyle had decided that maybe he wasn’t feeling sick after all. And by that, I mean he threw off the blankets and told me to get my ass on the couch and out of his damn hair.
And so I’m back on the couch, in my nest of blankets and used tissues. Hopefully by tomorrow, I’ll be back in the game and have the strength to kick some dirty dishes, errands, and sick husbands into submission.