Mothers Aren't Allowed to Be Sick
I am back from the dead. That is to say I am vertical and actually feeling some better. The cold from hell visited me the last 2 weeks. It's been bad. I've stayed home from work, my chores around the house didn't get done. The only laundry that has been washed is what Old Man and I desperately need. I tried to talk him into driving the 20 mile round-trip to a store to buy new underwear so I wouldn't have to wash any (remember, Old Man doesn't know how to operate the washer, his eyes glaze just thinking about it). Old Man picked up on the cooking, which is a good thing, because I wasn't eating. If I had to fix his meals along with washing his underwear, he would soon tire of peanut butter sandwiches. The upshot is I think I’ve lost about 10 pounds.
I spent most of my days in my recliner in the den surrounded by tissue, cough drops, tissue, a glass of water, tissue, cold medicine, tissue, the remote (yes, Old Man gave it up just for me), tissue, DVDs, tissue, books, tissue, Su Doku puzzle books, tissue - everything to keep from moving the entire day. Too bad I have a weak bladder. Otherwise, a stick of dynamite couldn't have moved me.
I had fond thoughts of my children during this time. I know at least one of them had this same cold. I know because she called me everyday to let me know, between sneezes, that her recuperation involved taking care of her 3 year old who had the same crud. And she thought her poor, poor husband might be coming down with it, too. Between sniffles, I sympathized. "Oh, yes, dear Daughter, it’s quite difficult, but you can do this. It will be better in a few days." On and on I gushed, hoping to inspire her to stay vertical for the sake of my darling grandchild (who, of course, can do no wrong).
On the inside, I was celebrating! I am being vindicated! How many years, how many illnesses did I have to feign wellness, so that I could bolster my own confidence in my ability to nurse them back to health? How many buckets did I carry so that I could clean up after them and then throw up in the bucket because of the odor? How many times was my skin on fire from fever, that I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sick, howling child? How many times did I stand in icy bleachers, blazing hot from fever, wrapped from head to toe, just so that my child knew I was ‘there’ for him? How many times did I wash toddler clothes while fighting off nausea and dizzy spells?
Not very many, I’ll tell you that. My kids were very healthy compared to their friends. I think genes plays a part of that, but also my efforts to keep them healthy and balanced while I was healthy and balanced. We had our days, though. I think about them when my daughter calls. Payback is really tough. She can’t rest, or lay down, or take it easy. Mothers aren’t allowed to get sick.
If my daughter (and the rest of the kids when their time comes) can survive their children’s and husband’s illnesses, she too will have earned the right to spend most of her sick days in her recliner in the den surrounded by tissue, cough drops, tissue, a glass of water, tissue, cold medicine, tissue, the remote, tissue, DVDs, tissue, books, tissue, Su Doku puzzle books, tissue - everything to keep from moving the entire day. And if one of her children did not sit on her bladder, they way she sat on mine, then she won’t have to worry about it being too weak. But, as we have seen, what goes around, comes around. "So, dear Daughter, don’t get too comfortable in the recliner."
I spent most of my days in my recliner in the den surrounded by tissue, cough drops, tissue, a glass of water, tissue, cold medicine, tissue, the remote (yes, Old Man gave it up just for me), tissue, DVDs, tissue, books, tissue, Su Doku puzzle books, tissue - everything to keep from moving the entire day. Too bad I have a weak bladder. Otherwise, a stick of dynamite couldn't have moved me.
I had fond thoughts of my children during this time. I know at least one of them had this same cold. I know because she called me everyday to let me know, between sneezes, that her recuperation involved taking care of her 3 year old who had the same crud. And she thought her poor, poor husband might be coming down with it, too. Between sniffles, I sympathized. "Oh, yes, dear Daughter, it’s quite difficult, but you can do this. It will be better in a few days." On and on I gushed, hoping to inspire her to stay vertical for the sake of my darling grandchild (who, of course, can do no wrong).
On the inside, I was celebrating! I am being vindicated! How many years, how many illnesses did I have to feign wellness, so that I could bolster my own confidence in my ability to nurse them back to health? How many buckets did I carry so that I could clean up after them and then throw up in the bucket because of the odor? How many times was my skin on fire from fever, that I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sick, howling child? How many times did I stand in icy bleachers, blazing hot from fever, wrapped from head to toe, just so that my child knew I was ‘there’ for him? How many times did I wash toddler clothes while fighting off nausea and dizzy spells?
Not very many, I’ll tell you that. My kids were very healthy compared to their friends. I think genes plays a part of that, but also my efforts to keep them healthy and balanced while I was healthy and balanced. We had our days, though. I think about them when my daughter calls. Payback is really tough. She can’t rest, or lay down, or take it easy. Mothers aren’t allowed to get sick.
If my daughter (and the rest of the kids when their time comes) can survive their children’s and husband’s illnesses, she too will have earned the right to spend most of her sick days in her recliner in the den surrounded by tissue, cough drops, tissue, a glass of water, tissue, cold medicine, tissue, the remote, tissue, DVDs, tissue, books, tissue, Su Doku puzzle books, tissue - everything to keep from moving the entire day. And if one of her children did not sit on her bladder, they way she sat on mine, then she won’t have to worry about it being too weak. But, as we have seen, what goes around, comes around. "So, dear Daughter, don’t get too comfortable in the recliner."
Comments
Post a Comment
I've enjoyed writing this, as I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Please leave a comment about whether you like it or if not, constructive criticism is always welcome.