Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

14 November 2011

Those three little words...

*coughcoughsniffle*  "Dani?  I'b SICK..."

*cue slasher music*

Those three little words carry within them the ability to send me screaming from the room, the house, the state, the country... There is nothing.  NOTHING.  NOTHING more pathetic, more helpless, more annoying than my husband when he imagines himself to be sick.  

In the 10 years that we've been together, both in sickness and in health, I have:

Broken my foot... twice
Broken my finger
Dumped scalding bacon grease on my hand and wrist and given myself 3rd degree burns (don't ask)
Had pneumonia
Had MRSA so severely throughout my entire body that I had to be driven 2 hours each way to a doctor four times a week to have horrible, awful, brutal, painful things done to my body
Had the friggin' Swine Flu
Had more migraines than you can shake a stick at
Had sciatica
Given myself a concussion by accidentally slamming my head into the freezer door (shut up)
Caught every single cold and flu bug ever to hit any child, ever, who attended school in Del Norte County 

(Basically, I am a bad, embarrassing accident waiting to die a hideous death, most likely by butt injury.)

Throughout each and every one of those instances, I have managed to feed myself, clothe myself, bathe myself, get my ass out of bed and tend to my own (and everyone else's) needs and actually have Dan ask me, while I'm standing there with tubes hanging out of my body (MRSA) and expressing discomfort, "Why?  What's wrong with you?"

(In fact, during the Great MRSA Attack of 2005, Dan took a week off from work to "help" me.  He spent the week catching up on his sleep while I cleaned, vacuumed, and prayed for death.)

Dan "helping."

In that same time frame, Dan has had:

A few head colds.

The earth literally stands still at his first sniffle.

He takes to his bed.

He instantly falls asleep.

Occasionally, I will hear his weak little voice (which is ironic, because Dan is hands down the loudest person anyone, anywhere, has ever known, EVER) whispering from the confines of his sick bed, "Dani... *coughcoughcough*... Dani... *coughcoughcough*..."

Me:  *appearing in the doorway* "Yes?"

Dan: *barely able to lift his head or open his eyes* "Cad you breeg me sub water?"

Me:  "Yes."

Dan: *straining to speak, due to his extreme weakness*  "Ad sub ice?"

Me:  *heavy sigh*

I wait on him hand and foot while he lays in bed, in the dark, sicker than anyone, anywhere, has ever been.  Somehow, his harshest coughing fits coincide with me entering the bedroom and are followed by a deep, drawn out, expression of agony... "UHHHHHhhhhhhhhh...." *coughcoughcough*  "UHHHHhhhhhhh..."

Me: *stifling the urge to put him out of his misery*

When he blows his nose, he makes sure I'm aware of the color AND the consistency.

(Such a treat, I assure you.)

When  he sneezes, he makes sure he moans loudly afterward, to make sure I know how painful that sneeze actually was.

*AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH-CHOOOOOOOOOO!!!* "Uhhhhhhhhhh...Ohhhhhh goddddddd.... Uhhhhhhhhhh"

When he gets out of bed to use the bathroom, he makes sure to breathe loudly and agonizingly through his mouth, in case I should forget that he is, indeed, suffering mightily.

Meanwhile, I'm fantasizing about what I will wear and what song I will play at his funeral.

(I kid, I kid.)

Here's what I know, with absolute certainty:

I will catch his cold.

I will be sick, because my immune system is pretty well shot to hell, after the 9 weeks and 27 different antibiotics I was on during the MRSA incident.

I will be twice as sick as he is.

And as I'm standing there, coughing, sneezing, and blowing my nose, he will look at me and say, "What's wrong with you?"


  1. I don't know about Dan, but when my husband gets sick and is behaving much like yours, and I suggest he go to the doctor - I get a look as if I'm insane. Men are such weirdos.

  2. Ok, now I don't feel so bad that I had to go to 2 different schools to pick up two different sick kids (one had the decency to puke at school...the other waited Gil he got home). It still beats having the patient you've got! And I already called the hubs to warn him not to ask how my day is going!

  3. I swear, men are the biggest babies when they are sick. If my husband even so much as sniffles he complains for days.

  4. Yup yup. Men. Are. Babies. Big ole babies. And mine does the same thing as Carrie's - moans, sniffles, complains, but mention a doctor and he acts like I'm crazy.

  5. Trying to type through the giggles, not at your BIG baby.

    But...I am DYING to the hell did you slam your head in the freezer door? Seriously?

    And now, for the big one. Just do what Dan does. When you get sick, crawl into bed and announce to him in your best sickly voice that you need him there to take care of you. Start as soon as he gets his ass out of bed. Use your biggest threat (no more cooking, telling his mother, no more sex, kicking his ass, leaving him for Mr. Awesome,whatever), and I'm going to cheer you on from the sidelines and hope you get better quickly.

    LOVE the tombstone.

  6. To echo everyone else's comments, men. are. wusses. Frealsies.

  7. Men. *insert eyeroll here*

  8. Man cold = gigantic pussy. Every time my ex got a sniffle he practically called in the CDC. Leather up, Nancy Boy.

  9. Yeeeaaahhh, my husband-man is exactly like that. While I was puking my guts out and pissing out my ass from some tummy plague, he was all "I think I'm getting sick..." Honey, you would know if you were sick because YOU WOULD BE HURLING AND SHITTING ANS EXPERIENCING AGONIZING TUMMY CRAMPS. But no, he thought his slight nausea heralded the onset of worst-sickness-EVAR and promptly took a nap, leaving me to tend to the toddler. NICE. Anyhoo, moral of the story: men are pretty wimpy and not all that sympathetic or helpful. Frick, I wish I were a lesbian sometime, yo. (please dont any of ya'll be offended and punch me in the face.)


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