I’ve been a bit distracted of late. My poor Hubby Bear got pneumonia. He’s been as sick as a dog for a week and I half. Last week I was afraid he was going to croak in his sleep so I had to get his mother to talk him into going to the doctor. I knew something was gravely wrong when he didn’t eat for 2 days. My husband may be late for many things but not for a meal.
He’s the main cook in the house so I’ve been hard pressed to come up with things to temp him. I used to know how to cook many moons ago, it just sort of went away somewhere after the kids grew up and moved on. The poor guy has been living on chicken noodle soap and canned ravioli. I feel a little guilty about it, but even if I enrolled in a cooking class tomorrow morning it wouldn’t help in the meantime.
I’m getting a feeling of what it feels like to be on the well side of the equation also. I was under the weather quite a bit back in January and he was driving me crazy worrying about me, trying to force feed me and asking me if I was OK every 5 minutes. Now I know how scared he was.
When couples are in their 20s or 30s or even 40s getting sick is not fun, but there is still that feeling of immortality. The ole’ “it won’t happen to me…or us.” Suddenly, it takes on a whole new dimension when you’re pushing 60. It occurs to you that maybe this is the big one. I’m trying not to turn into a hysterical hypochondriac, but I think maybe the Hubman and I need to take better care of ourselves.