I Do NOT Do "Sick" Well
Now, I don't want to hear from you men that I'm a lesbian so what can I know about sick men. I was married to one for five years, long ago, raised a son who lived with me until he was 19 and have been a nurse for 22 years. I know what men are like when they're sick. One of the biggest shocks of my career occured 5 years ago when I made the switch from Obstetrics to ER nursing. I got to deal with men on a regular basis. Can I tell you how much I miss OB? Men are totally dramatic.
I'm quite glad I'm single right now because I could be driving some lovely, middle-aged woman absolutely nuts! I whimper, I talk with that nasal whine, I cough pathetically, as if this will be my last breath. I would desire to be waited on hand and foot but would, in typical martyr fashion, drag myself from my deathbed to get my own orange juice, sniffling and snivelling the whole way. I am ashamed of myself when I'm ill but, really, I can't help it.
So, I tossed and turned until noon today. When I finally got around to getting up, I loaded myself up with 12-hour pseudophedrine, Mucinex and Tylenol and dragged myself out to the diner. I felt as if, at any moment, my head would finally explode. Damn, I almost wished it would. I got a modicum of relief from the killer headache following two cups of coffee and brunch. I came straight home, popped some Ibuprofen and a leftover Vicodin from last summer's dental work and hit the sack! I stayed in bed for 3 hours and slept pretty well.
I woke up this evening feeling, if not entirely well, as if I might just be able to get out in the garden after all this weekend. I'm set up on the couch again with a light meal and loads of OJ. I'm taking my vitamins and hitting the medicine cabinet as needed. I think I will be okay.
It's such a blessing when one has once again dodged the bullet and avoided certain death! I don't do sick well at all.
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