Sick days

I made it through one of the most difficult weeks of my life. You could not begin to understand the pain, the difficulty, the hardship I endured.
My wife probably had it kinda rough, too, since she was the one with pneumonia.
It started on the weekend, when my wife woke up and started to say that she felt warm, but instead began coughing to the point I was pretty sure she was about to expel major organs. I tried to get her to relate, explaining to her that launching her pancreas across the room could leave a nasty stain on the wall.
When she finally stopped hacking, I felt her forehead and it did, indeed, feel warm. Actually, it felt like the hood of car in the summertime. She asked me to get the thermometer. I told her that would not be necessary, since I was aces at gauging this type of thing. I put my hand to her forehead again. “163,” I said. She began to tear up a little, most likely because she was so proud of my medical skills.
She spent much of the day in bed, and I did the sensible thing, which was to clear out of the house with the children. Bless their hearts, when a parent is sick, kids try their best to make you feel better, but have not quite honed that nurturing skill. Our son, who is 3, made an attempt to make Mommy feel better by licking her. He looked a little hurt when I explained that we do not, in fact, lick people, and that goes double for sick people.
That night, I kicked my nursing skills into high-gear, which was to ask her every four minutes if she wanted some NyQuil, which is the single greatest product America has ever made. Fever? NyQuil. Sniffles? NyQuil. Stubbed toe? NyQuil.
OK, so I am not actually a NyQuil junkie. I just know that when I have had a cold in the past, if I take some NyQuil, I generally wake up four days later feeling great. Eventually, I convinced my wife to take some (“Yes, dear, the label says two bottles at bedtime”) but she was still hacking to the point that even the vaunted NyQuil could not knock her out.
After a very restless evening (I kept waking up because SOMEBODY kept coughing and coughing and coughing), my wife made her way to the doctor. She still had a fever and wicked cough. And she had that sick person look about her that people get when they just have this defeated my-cat-just-got-run-over look.
The doctor gave her some cough medicine, which, judging by the warning labels, was NyQuil on steroids. Alas, this was not going to do the trick either. Another night like the one before. The next day, my wife called the doctor again, who called her in another prescription. This one came in a black bottle with a little skull and crossbones on it. OK, so it didn’t but the warning labels were far direr that most (“Prior to taking the medication, tell your family you love them, and apologize in advance for things you may say. Do not operate heavy machinery while taking this medication. In fact, do not even think of heavy machinery, as this medication gives you the power to control dump trucks with your mind. Do not mix this medication with anything, including oxygen or water. Do not think about this medication, as opening the pathways of your brain to it will allow it to use you as a conduit to conduct its evil bidding.”)
The morning of this ubermedicine, the kids were at school, and my wife was entering her semi-coma for the first sleep she had gotten in days. After a few hours, my phone rang. “Can you come home? I feel like I’m going to faint.”
I got there as fast as I could, and when I entered the bedroom, I saw my wife, sitting in the middle of the bed. The TV was on, but she was kinda staring at the wall. “Uh, you OK?” I asked.
“No. This medicine makes me feel really weird,” she said.
“Uh...where are the sheets? And the comforter?” I asked.
“In the wash. But I got dizzy.”
At that point, it was clear that this medicine needed to work quick, because prolonged use of it might result in the police finding my wife wandering down the stream babbling about her days as a Navy man.
The next day, she was somewhat on the mend, which was a relief, because it meant that she would be able to go back to the warm embrace of Dr. Q.
We’re more than a week removed from the initial sickdown, and she is feeling much better, which is a good thing. It’s a lame feeling to see your spouse sick as a dog and not be able to really do much for her. Oh, and for those of you who think laughter is the best medicine, I can assure you that, when you have pneumonia, laughter is not only not a good medicine, it is ill advised. On the rare occasion you can eke out a laugh, it results in a 20-minute fit of convulsive coughing.
So the house is coming out of quarantine now, and we can get back to the routine of living our lives. I am just thankful she’s better. I was getting tired of being woken up all the time.