...for a different kind of girl

silent surburban girl releasing her voice, not yet knowing what all she wants to say about her life and the things that make it spin. do you have to be 18 to be here? you'll know when i know.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

my best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw him pass out...

My husband's been sick for three weeks. I'll pause to allow for the requisite sympathetic reactions this news typically provokes. The ooohing. The awwwing. The hushed - because of his constant headache - whispers that he get better soon. Hell, I hope he gets better soon, but as it is, it's been three weeks.

I feel like yelling that. Hold on.


Good God.

Three weeks ago, he returned from a long weekend away with the boys. As soon as he entered the house, I knew something was wrong because he bypassed my loving arms, which were open to engulf him in an embrace meant to say "Hello! Welcome home! I'm glad you returned to me! As you can see, despite my irrational fears, I didn't die nor was I killed while you were gone for four days and three nights, and though I'm holding the tiniest nugget of a grudge regarding the complete ramshackle mess you left the house in for me to clean while you were away, I love you. Kiss me. Please. Before I mention all the laundry you stuck me with, too, thanks."

Odd, I know. Hell, you probably want to make out with me right now knowing that's how I greet loved ones when they enter my home. Understandable. Truth be told, I secretly want to make out with many of you, too. I also usually have fresh baked cookies somewhere in the house at all times ("...it's been in my pocket; they're real warm and soft."), so think about that, too, when you're imagining us fondly. I realize it's an uncomfortable feeling, but just relax. It's OK.

Anyway, my dear husband chose not to make out with me that night. Instead, he put his hand in front of my face and scurried upstairs, almost as if he were Will Smith rushing to his basement laboratory to hide from The Infected (duh duh duh DUH!!) except the irony here is he's infected one. Thankfully not with something that transformed him into a big-headed CGI mutant starring in one of the worst movies ever that I can't NOT watch when it's on FX, which is all the damn time, though, truth be told, it felt a little touch and go there for several days.

As if the sniffling, coughing, aching head, fever, you're making it hard for ME to sleep symptoms weren't enough to make it clear my husband was sick, his lack of work ethic really drove the point home. For as long as I've known him, my husband has bravely gone forth to sell power tools (or whatever else his previous jobs have required) even if he was in a full body cast or had accidentally removed a limb in a tragic caulking accident. He's the Black Knight of our family. No mere flesh wound is going to keep my man away from an honest day's work! 'Tis noble, really, for you might know me as a wee bit of a whiner. I hope you know me as such because when I went into the blog and searched 'sick' to provide you a few hilarious links to my past feverish foibles, far too many entries popped up, and while I'm sure not all of them were directly about my maladies, it was enough to be mildly embarrassing. Suffice to say, I can be whiny.

The first week, I watched my husband return home at various points in the day and huddle on the couch enshrouded in his coat, a hat, and a blanket around his shaking shoulders. "Where are you off to today?" I'd ask. "To any early grave," he'd reply. When he wasn't trying to dislodge his lungs through a series of volcanic coughs, I often confused him for someone who'd stopped to rest on the couch while trekking across the barren lands in search of hope in a post-apocalyptic world, and week two was looming ahead of us. After days of no relief and entirely too much togetherness that was beginning to border on a possible manslaughter conviction, I suggested he visit the doctor. That's really what helped convince me the man's sick. If there's one thing he hates more than missing work, it's going to the doctor and paying a pesky co-pay, but I returned one afternoon to find a note stuck to the counter with the words Walk-in Clinic scrawled on it, the final 'c' ending in a tiny ink trail to the bottom corner of the note, as if the effort of holding a pen was too much for the man.

By now you're probably asking "Hey, is there a point to this endless tale of misery? Because I gotta be honest, while I'm sorry your husband's sick, I'm a little sick, too. Yeah. I'm a little damn sick of reading all this! Can we speed things up maybe?"

Yes there's a point to all this! Just chill out, Dr. Feelgood! Sheesh!

When my husband finally returned home from the medical clinic, he burst feebly through the door, sat down on the couch, and patted the cushion next to him as a signal I should join him. "It must be bad news," I thought.

"It's bad news,"
he mumbled.

("I'm a genius!" I thought)

"Just tell me," I said. "I can take it."

"I've got pneumonia," he sighed, collapsing weakly into the cushions. "Can you believe that bad news?"

I appropriately expressed my concern. Fetched a blanket, offered to take his prescriptions to the pharmacy to be filled, stirred a pot of homemade chicken soup. All the good wifely things I'll admit I'd given up on around the 8th day. I rubbed his feet as we sat quietly together and processed his diagnosis. In sickness and in health? Oh, I'm with you, my love!

"There is some good news, though!" he said, and though I thought he might be delirious with fever, for when would there ever be good news again, I took a bite of one of those fresh baked cookies I keep around the house and asked what it could possibly be.

"I've lost 10 pounds in five days!" he cheered.

And then I killed him.

The end.

OK, not really. But let's just say that after he gave me that little glimmer of sunshine, I gave him a heaping helping of my medicine. With my mighty fists.

OK, also not really.

But the FDA really should get on approving the healthy dose of eye-rolling I gave him as my sympathy flew out the window. Perhaps in a convenient time-release capsule. Or a patch that could be worn on the body and releases a steady dose of common sense. My husband could wear his over his mouth.

To prevent the spread of germs, of course.



Blogger Margarita said...

That's the funniest post I've read in a while. Usually when men take sick, there is always the eye-rolling and the eventual baby he becomes. It's sickening.

Poor boy, hope he gets better soon! *whispering*

Sunday, November 08, 2009 10:31:00 PM  
Blogger Sailor said...

Funny, too bad he's sick- hope he gets well soon so he can properly appreciate the eye-rolling!

Monday, November 09, 2009 6:10:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Pneumonia? Please . . . tell him to suck it up and quit with the misery.


Monday, November 09, 2009 6:43:00 AM  
Blogger Chasity said...

I would so totally lace his chicken soup with some sort of bulk-it-up drink from the health food store, then bat big innocent eyes at him when he can't figure out why he's gained back 15 pounds...

But then again, I'm in a bit of a vengeful mood today.

Monday, November 09, 2009 7:18:00 AM  
Blogger motherbumper said...

Ten pounds? Lucky Basterd. And I totally want to make out with you more than ever.

Monday, November 09, 2009 7:57:00 AM  
Blogger just making my way said...

Wow. Ferris Bueller, I Am Legend AND a Holy Grail shout out?! You rock.

Sorry bout the pneumonia. My sympathy would have flown the coop after the first few days, so cheers to you for waiting so long to beat him up!

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:26:00 AM  
Blogger TwoBusy said...

Pneumonia sucks. For both of you, apparently.

Hope he feels better soon.

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:42:00 AM  
Blogger WILLIAM said...

Is there a healthy dose of eye rolling?

Also I know the FDA approves of making out as a cure for most ailments.

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:48:00 AM  
Blogger Desmond Jones said...

As much fun as it would no doubt be to make out with you. . . I shouldn't. I can't. I mean. . . Molly wouldn't like it. Not at all. . .

And you better watch your kneecaps around that Black Knight of yours.

And you're reminding me of the time I came down with mono - a whole month of sleeping 20hrs/day. Which left Molly about as jealous as you are, over Tool Man's weight. . .

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:57:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

At least it wasn't just a Man Cold. That would be too much and I think I'd be forced to help you bury his body.

On the otherhand, you might still have to kill him for mentioning the weight loss. And I guess I'll help bury his body. As long as the ground isn't too frozen.

Monday, November 09, 2009 10:09:00 AM  
Blogger The Savage said...

So, um, are they Gummy Bear cookies? (Yeah I caught the Ferris Bueller reference, You of whom I lust so much)
My sympathies to the hubby. I've had pneumonia before. Got me a trip to the emergency room and three days in the hospital. Came pretty close to Death. He's really a nice guy ya know, Death.... We played Battleship and Life. (he never wins at Life) Swapped stories. He kept going on and on about these two brainless rockers who said dude a lot and how he helped them change the future.... Bill something or other and this ted guy... I don't remember it all....

Monday, November 09, 2009 10:32:00 AM  
Anonymous Brian said...

Don't be jealous of the 10 pounds. You KNOW it's going to get packed back on as soon as the plague leaves his body.

And normally, my only reasons for not being able to make out with you are distance and spouses (damn commitments!) but now? What if you're the Typhoid Mary of this particular brand of pneumonia? And we all thought mono was the kissing disease!!

Monday, November 09, 2009 11:09:00 AM  
Blogger Swirl Girl said...

starve a cold, feed a fever?? Peeshaw!

He should gain 10 pounds!!!

I bet he grew really long eyelashes and has super shiny hair now too.

(I have no sympathy either)

Monday, November 09, 2009 11:45:00 AM  
Blogger Aunt Juicebox said...

10 pounds! I GAIN weight when I'm sick from eating all the comfort food and medicinal chocolate I can get my hands on! Hope he's better soon.

Monday, November 09, 2009 11:55:00 AM  
Blogger Bclark said...

OMG, loved this!
The common sense patch -- genius! Could that also be worn with a short-term memory patch? 'Cause my man could totally use one of those most days...

Hope he's better soon. :)

Monday, November 09, 2009 3:08:00 PM  
Blogger FTN said...

I'm calling shenanigans. No way are there actually any wives out there that rub the feet of their sickly husbands.

Monday, November 09, 2009 3:47:00 PM  
Anonymous The Mayor said...

Lord please don't let my husband read about the foot rubbing thing.

After 1 week of listening to the symptoms I would have insisted on a doctor trip or take your germs to a hotel.

Very fun recount though.

Monday, November 09, 2009 5:45:00 PM  
Blogger Mad Woman said...

I love you...for throwing in the most awesome film refs ever. And of course for the thought of pummeling your husband for that comment. 10 pounds. Geez. Bite me.

Monday, November 09, 2009 6:25:00 PM  
Blogger Chag said...

Guys are dumb. They let their colds and illnesses go until they develop into pneumonia, instead of taking care of things at the onset.

I know from experience. Several times.

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:25:00 PM  
Blogger Kate Coveny Hood said...

I don't think I'd have too much sympathy after that either... It's already annoying that all men have to do is lift weights once to lose 10 lbs. This whole gender biased metabolism thing is vexing.

Monday, November 09, 2009 8:31:00 PM  
Blogger Pat said...

Wait, now, I normally don't sympathize with sick husbands. We all know what babies they can be....but did you ever HAVE pneumonia? Man, I had a case of it and it took a few MONTHS to get over it. I had absolutely NO energy. Everything was such a big effort to do. So, have patience, m'lady, he's really NOT faking it - THIS TIME!

Monday, November 09, 2009 10:14:00 PM  
Anonymous the weirdgirl said...

See, I would have killed him as soon as he said pneumonia. In fact, I would probably have started yelling at his poor aching head. No sympathy here for those who don't visit doctors. There have been too many SWM episodes here. TOO MANY!

(That's Sick While Male, btw.)

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 11:46:00 AM  
Blogger Desmond Jones said...

Wow. . . some seriously hard-assed women here.

And, uh, what Pat said. . .

My sister damn near lost her husband to pneumonia, just recently. Nothing to roll your eyes about. . .

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 1:34:00 PM  
Blogger Laggin said...

God, I love you. Now about those cookies...

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 2:17:00 PM  
Blogger Aunt Becky said...

Pass the cookies.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 5:41:00 PM  
Blogger Brian o vretanos said...

Somehow I don't think the Pneumonia-Plan Diet will catch on, but you never know - perhaps you should try writing a book about it with Tool Man's endorsement on the cover "I lost 10 Pounds in Five Days!" and see if there's enough gullible people out there to make you a fortune.

And I really hope Tool Man gets better soon.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009 5:48:00 PM  
Blogger Christina Lee said...

I so thought you were going to say
H1N1. I actually sat here thinking whether I'd take a pneumonia diet pill to slough off 10 ponds so easily. SICK (no pun intended)!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 6:46:00 AM  
Blogger Cocotte said...

My daughter lost 10 pounds last week too. Hope your hubby is on the mend!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 9:30:00 AM  
Blogger MsPicketToYou said...

1) i'm sorry 2) when pregnant with kid one, husband lost 40 sympathetic pounds. LOST THEM.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009 4:41:00 PM  
Blogger kanishk said...

Please . . . tell him to suck it up and quit with the misery. Work from home India

Thursday, November 12, 2009 7:26:00 AM  
Blogger lime said...

yeesh, no fun for either one of you. and a comment like that from him....uh yeah, probably best for your own sanity to chalk it up to the delrium talking.

Thursday, November 12, 2009 8:07:00 AM  
Blogger thatgirlblogs said...

frack! I missed your b-day?

OK, sending Joe Jonas over with some flowers. Open the door.

Friday, November 20, 2009 11:29:00 AM  
Blogger Eric said...

Can I just say I stayed on your blog for longer than normal trying to figure out the blog entry topic...

Reminds me a lot of Ferris Buller..
"The Wedding Planner's" Penny...

"Oh no, darnit... I just remembered that I promised my friend's brother's godmother that I would help her change her fax cartridge because she's going out of town tomorrow... on and African safari!"

Hope you have a wonderful day :)

Monday, November 23, 2009 2:12:00 PM  
Blogger CT Mom said...

Did he pass out at 32 flavors or 28 flavors last night? I always get that quote wrong.

G had pneumonia 4 years ago - in August. It took the doctors 3 rounds of antibiotics and multiple trips before they figured it out. He was out of work for almost 2 weeks, and it took at least another month or two to feel like himself.

Merry Christmas - you're welcome.

PS: The girls made G a get-well poster on the back of some wrapping paper. The poster still hangs in our room 4 years later. Yeah, it's time to redecorate.

Monday, November 23, 2009 7:23:00 PM  
Blogger Hollywood Farm Films said...

Wow! true love at it's finest!

Sunday, December 06, 2009 7:03:00 PM  

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