Tea and Sympathy

The last time I had the flu it was three days of torture.

Not that anyone enjoys having the flu, of course.  But it seems I am into the drama aspect of it more than most.  After the first day with no apparent sympathy and a bedside manner equal to none (because there was none) from Hubster, I did what any sane person would do.

I called my mommy and asked her to come over and take care of me.

Now granted, I was about fifty years old at the time, but you can never outgrow having your mom take care of you.  It's in the Book of Rules for Kids of Any Age.

Mom, to her credit, actually did offer to come over and fix 7-Up and chicken noodle soup for me.  Thankfully, the offer was all I needed to feel better.  I told her to stay home so she wouldn't get the plague as well, and I managed to make a full recovery.

Sometimes all I need is a little sympathy.

Hubster does not understand this.  According to him, if you're sick you should stay away from everyone else so as not to infect them.  He only appears in the bedroom when I shout out for something I need, and then only reluctantly.  He manages to stay as far away from me as possible so as not to contract whatever life-threatening illness I have.  The words "poor baby" are not in his vocabulary during these times.  He replaces them with "stay away from me" instead.

Last night it happened again. 

I went to bed early because I wasn't feeling up to par.  By the time 10 p.m. rolled around, I was in full-blown flu mode.  Every muscle in my body ached.  I was cold, even though it was 72 degrees in the room.  I turned on the heated mattress pad, two heating pads, and had extra covers over me.  I moaned and groaned, tossed and turned.

I woke up every hour, sometimes to take aspirin, sometimes to get a drink of water.  And I noticed something strange each time. 

Hubster never came to bed.

Now, we've been married almost 23 years, and I don't remember him ever missing out on a night's sleep.  And missing out on a night's sleep in his own bed is just unheard of for Hubster.

When I dragged myself out of bed this morning, I asked him where he'd been all night.

"Oh, you were moaning and groaning so much I had to sleep in another room," said he.  "I couldn't sleep with all that going on."

My husband, full of his version of tea without the addition of sympathy.