On Being Sickie-Pooh

I'm borrowing the phrase "sickie-pooh" from my dad, a term he used during my childhood when one of us in the household wasn't feeling well. It was I who was sick, uh, "sickie-pooh" late last week and into this week, today being the first day I felt human enough to venture out. It was sort of like coming out of a cave, seeing the light of day for the first time after a winter's hibernation.

You walk out. Hey, the world's still here, you think, shielding your eyes from that old friend the sunshine. Everything seems more vibrant. And louder.

In truth, the only reason I ventured out today was due to the fact that Mr. Nina is now sick with the same virus. He's just entering the forest. I, on the other hand, am coming out of the woods, although I'm still carrying the bags of fatigue and that ragged cough with me (the cough that causes people to look at you with a sense concern--for themselves).

When I'm sick, I take things for granted. Things like being able to sleep through the night, being able to breathe with my mouth closed. My appetite. Until yesterday, I didn't have one, so I had to force myself to eat. My diet consisted mostly of water, tea and soup. Last night though, my stomach said NEED MORE so I added ham, biscuits and a root beer float (not together, mind you). And even at that, the tummy still said "NEED MORE".

It was a joy to eat.

I used to hear men and women experience illness differently. I didn't believe this until I married this husband of mine. When I'm sick, I pretty much just want to be left alone. I ride out the storm until I am well again, doing my best to avoid the pharmaceuticals (other than the vap-o-rub). Mr. Nina on the other hand has a little issue with acceptance. He won't admit the virus has won until he's well into the feeling-like-crap stage. Until that time he'll push himself, insist on doing everything himself, butt in when I'm making him something to insist 'he can do it he's not sick'.

And then once the virus has announced "I'm here to stay white man", he goes into the whine mode.

Endless phrases like "honey I don't feeeeeeeeeel well" and "I haaaaaate being sick" are heard. And worse even it is when it is a virus I too have had, for then I am asked endless questions like "honey when you had this did your eyes water" and "honey when you had this did your ears hurt".

On and on and on.

I was tapped out on patience today so I replied to those questions with "I already answered that 50 times yesterday. The same answer applies again today."

I know, takes longer to say such things instead of a simple "yes".

Throughout it all though, there has been one hero in the household, one being who has withstood the coughing and sneezing, the moaning and complaining with a quiet patience not seen in people. This sweet little being has agreed to put aside some of her needs so that the two of us can heal.

That sweet little being, that hero, would be our dog.

Ruuuff.