This flu has been brutal. I feel I’m about 80% of capacity, but now BP has it. What is it about men that makes them awful patients? It’s like he’s the only person who’s been sick. “I must have it worse than you did, Puddin.” Umm. Noo. I just have to do some things so I dragged myself up a few hours to get them accomplished.
I made the mistake of giving him this little bell to ring when he needed something. Last night he slept in our bed and I slept on the couch—for a few reasons: 1. I didn’t want to try to sleep with his feverish, sweaty body tossing and turning all night. 2. I was still coughing a lot and didn’t want to wake him up.
By the third time he’d rang that damned bell in the middle of the night, I wanted to shove it up his ass or cram it down his throat. “Puddin, can I have some cold water?” “I need a straw.” “It’s time for my cough medicine.” “I think I need another flu pill.” “Would you run this washcloth under cold water, it’s too hot.” “I feel awful.”
Throughout the night I was worried that we'd have some kind of emergency (a fire . . a robber . . .an earthquake . . .) and I'd have to try and haul BP's sick ass outside. Thank God nothing like that happened.
I didn’t even hear the alarm this morning and overslept and was late for work. Work today was more than pleasant when I realized that the alternative was to answer that damned bell all day.
Anyway, BP is slightly better because today he’s eaten two popsicles (“Do we have any of the red ones left?”), a small hunk of French bread, an over-medium egg (“with just a tiny bit of salt and a medium amount of black pepper, Puddin”), a blueberry muffin and two Saltines. He’s also had lots of water and an orange Gatorade.
Please cross your fingers that LP doesn’t get it. Thank you.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
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