Wr1tt3n0ne

Bunches and bunches
2017-11-11 05:56:35 (UTC)

Back From Outer Space

One of the few things my mother taught me was how to be ill.


No, it is a fine art. She taught me to stop doing for anyone else around me. Just drop it, delegate it, wash my hands of the whole thing and just be sick. As a woman who put others first in a great deal of her life, not selfless, that was not her, but devoted. She spent inordinate amounts of time fawning over me, entertaining me, and teaching me. I learned to be outgoing, funny, charming, cutting, and smart, and maybe arrogant about it as well from her. I saw the way my father kissed the ground she walked on and how she seemed to find it all a bit much. She never gushed over him, and for a while I thought it just how men and women loved each other one prostrating and one distant. Then I witnessed her behavior over her childhood sweetheart and found out it was all about attraction.

But on the count of being utterly taken care of while you are sick, well I cemented my relationship with my husband over a nasty spell of the flu. He's got a medical background and already has a steadfast disposition when it comes to the body and all of its sh*tty glory.

So we had been dating and he called to take me out and I demurred as I wasn't feeling well. He immediately wanted to know who was in charge of my care. I said my roommate was picking me up some ramen, I would be fine in a few days. He declared the roommate ill equipped to handle me and invited himself over. When he arrived he took care of the roommate and packed me away for proper treatment at his place. I was altogether too sick to refuse, so I went. Every spell over the toilet or sink he bustled in to wipe my face down or hold my long hair out of my face. When I missed he shrugged me out of my clothes, washed them and shoveled me into the shower. He spent his entire weekend attending to me and by the time the weekend closed out I was delivered back to my place with a set of instructions for my roommate to assume the last of my care.

He still wanted that dinner date and another. The to move in with me and the roommate. And then to take me with him when he moved out. He listened to my every minor health grievance and advocated for the best care he could find me, eventually marrying me among other reasons to get me some decent healthcare and because he loved me. I said yes, but only because I loved him. But he was right the healthcare is pretty nice, too.

And so for the last two days despite working a double shift and everything else we have going on, he ordered me to bed and has been refusing to let me do much more than stay hydrated, entertained and well rested. Strange to say, but it is nice to be a little sick.




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