Being sick sucks. I am not talking about a little sniffle, a minor cough, the 99 fever. I mean the sick of white spots in the throat when it hurts to breathe, the aches of existing when you have the flu, spewing everything out from your esophagus to whatever surface is nearby, blue lights covering your sight when you move too quickly.
When the children get sick, mom cools or heats, kisses, plays, rub, cleans, cooks, feeds, wipes, watches, sings, bathes, loves.
When dad has his first cough, mom shudders, because she knows she will need to cool or heat, kiss, rubs, clean, cook, feed, wipe, clean and baby the dad. Hours, days, until the cough fades away. Lights darkened, hidden away, solitude.
When mom gets sick–no matter how hard she coughs, the fever rises, the ear aches, the body slows–she gets one day at most to sleep, skip meal preparation, shower, rest, sleep some more. The next day it is back to work, to clean, to cook, to wash dishes, to drive, to help with homework, to feed the dogs.
One night erases everyone’s memory of illness as the family awakes. Super Mom. We all wear the uniform, but sometimes we should passalong the moniker to someone else. For a day or two. C