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Wednesday, April 27, 2011


No. I'm not. Darrin is.

There are different types of sick people:
Sick Person One: This person feels awful, goes to bed, asks not to be disturbed and no one really knows they're around. They take care of themselves and get better. If a doctor needs to be called, they do it. If they need help, they request it politely and return to bed. They try to be cheerful and will sometimes smile even when they feel miserable. Often, the degree of illness is misunderstood by those nearby because the sick person doesn't project that they don't feel well.

Sick Person Two: This person is a whiner. They like company--but only because they want to be coddled and comforted. They need to be waited on and will ask for things in a submissive, aggravating, wheedle that makes everyone around them want to run away. This is the the sick person who is often asked, "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable in your nice, warm bed, in your quiet, peaceful bedroom--WITH THE DOOR CLOSED????"

Sick Person Three: This is the person who is palpably able to broadcast how they feel. When they're angry, the room seems to change color. When they're happy, it's contagious. When they're sad, the whole world seems to weep. This person is undemanding, but their very presence, when they're sick, seems to aggravate everyone in the room. They don't ask for things--but the not asking seems to be a demand in and of itself. They don't DO anything except lie quietly and hack loudly. But simply being with this person when they're ill, will suck the life out of every person in the room.

Darrin is sick person number three. And he has been sick for four days now.

Four days.

Add to this the fact that nights are no better than days. I don't sleep because he's broadcasting how miserable he is even when he's unconscious.

I work at home. Normally this is a peaceful place. I enjoy it.

Currently I take the kids to seminary in the morning, then I return home and sit in my driveway contemplating whether or not I have the stamina to face the cesspool of misery in my house all because a tiny virus has entered my husband's body and turned him into a joy-sucking black hole.

If' you've met me, you'll know that it's almost impossible to depress me. Most of the time I'm energetic and more giggly than I should be. I smile. A lot. "...smiling's my favorite!"

However, if I do not get out of my house today, I'm not sure I'll remember how to smile anymore. I adore my husband--but I cannot be around him when he's sick. He effectively makes me believe that the apocalypse is just around the corner, that life is filled with phlegm and mucous, and that tomorrow will be worse than today.

So I'm leaving. I'm going for a run, taking a shower, packing my computer and going to my dad's office to work the rest of today.

But just so you know:
1. I bought him soup and grape juice and pain killer and throat lozenges.
2. I'll make sure he's still breathing when I leave.
3. I'll kiss him good-bye and check in on him every couple of hours.

See--I really do love him. I just have to go somewhere and find myself again.

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