S: We Are Sick Puppies

Guy and I are currently in the midst of our first real relationship illness.

Not an infirmed relationship, but actual, physical, hazmat-worthy sickness.

I started it. I think. We’re not really sure. But the truly icky stuff started with me.

The night it began, I received proper doses of sympathy…via the phone. And he was even sweet enough to drive to my house with soda and crackers at 1 in the morning after I had been turned inside out by the microbial monster inside me.

Food poisoning? Virus? Targeted warfare? Who knows?

He felt bad for me and generously drove to me with comfort foods in the middle of the night, but he wasn’t taking any chances. When he arrived with the reinforcements, he was again sympathetic, but stayed well away and kept his mouth and nose covered with a napkin.

He hates being sick. Especially in such a manner. He wanted no part. I didn’t blame him and didn’t want him to catch what I had, if it could indeed be caught. So I thought nothing of his distance. Keep away is what I would say.

The following day was spent pretty much useless on my couch. I attempted to get some work done between visits with the porcelain god, but was rather tired and couldn’t focus. By then I had developed a fever and wrote off the food poisoning theory. I had also developed a deep frustration for being laid up and not having an appetite. And the bathroom…I was very tired of the bathroom and the activities therein. One cracker should not cause such horrors. It ain't right.

I am not good at being sick.

Still I received concerned texts and calls and apologies for the lack of visits. But I understood. I didn’t want him around. I didn’t want to get him sick and he REALLY didn’t need to experience me in this state any more than he already had.

The next day, I was pretty much over whatever I had…mentally. Holiday weekend. Gorgeous weather. Cabin fever. Sheila will be sick no more. And, really, I was feeling better. The actual fever was gone. I could eat 5 crackers instead of just 1. No bathroom events. I even mowed the lawn. Slowly. Obviously, I will do all in my power to talk myself out of being sick. That's how much I can't stand it. Being sick is dead to me.

So, by day 3, there is no more sick...there is only well.

This meant party time. I got myself cleaned up and perked up and headed to a couple of parties with Guy. I took it easy. I hadn’t eaten anything but some toast and a few crackers all day, so I just stuck with water at the first party. When that and the day’s other foodstuffs seemed to sit ok in my system (and my self-imposed Jedi mind tricks seemed to have worked on the inner demons), I got over-confident and had a beer. Well…2. Over a few hours.

Oops.

System breakdown. Not good.

The system was still broken down the next day. Although not as badly as it had been. But still, potty problems while camping (yes…camping) are never good.

I faked being well as much as I could, but eventually had to ‘fess up to Guy that the situation was still not normal. He was slightly annoyed that I had let him kiss me for two days while I was still sick, but I told him that at the time I really thought I was past it (which was true, I did...I thought it was over). But clearly wasn’t past me. He dropped it.

Guess who’s sick now.

I’m at his place. Keeping watch. Comforting. Fetching things. Not being of much use really. But he wants me around because his son is here and he feels better if I’m here…just in case. And he's going to need help in the morning getting him to school.

I asked if he was mad at me. He says he’s not. He doesn’t seem to be. In fact, at some point, while he had his head in my lap and I rubbed his back, he commented on how little bedside attention he gave me compared to what I was giving him.

Another new thing for me. Bedside manner. I’m not that good at it. I mean, I feel bad when people are sick, but I grew up with “quitcher bellyachin’…yer not hurt,” so I don’t coddle much. Maybe it’s because I feel bad that I most likely passed this on to him because I was too stubborn to just stay home for another few days. Maybe it’s because I just had it, so I know what it’s like. Maybe it’s because I know he doesn’t get sick very often and isn’t being melodramatic for the sake of some attention.

Maybe I’m getting soft because I love him.

Maybe.

I will tell you one thing…dude is still effing hot, even when he’s been yarfing. It’s kind of unbelievable.

Is it ok to take advantage of a sick man in bed?

No, Sheila! Bad, Sheila! You are one sick puppy, Sheila.

Prepare the sponge bath.