Sick and Tired

Oh God the Sickness. A pox is on my house. My husband brought home "the cold that will not die" on Good Friday. In my ignorance I kissed him and hugged him and made fun of him for being sick. It was back before the onset...in the days I felt invincible. Relying on my track record for being immune to whatever disease had befallen my weak and susceptible husband, I feared not.

And then Monday my throat hurt a little. Weird...my husband had not had a sore throat. Probably just dehydration right? Ignorance is bliss...Tuesday I managed to crawl home and collapse on the couch with a 101 fever, which in a deluge of sweat soaked sheets broke that night. Wednesday I awoke, alive and well. Only to be struck down Wednesday afternoon with a river of mucous streaming from my lungs and nose. It was not pretty. The cough that made me sound like I had smoked 10 packs of Pall Mall's a day for 30 years was attractive though...

Thursday just got worse, but I couldn't take the day off. Friday is a blurr and my survival is nothing short of a miracle. I still don't remember how I got home from work. Saturday I was still sick and Sunday I layed around because my husband was doing laundry and well...just to be sure I thought I would still remain couch bound.

My husband was sick right along with me, just not as severe. Not as many maladies. he just had a run o' the mill sinus infection. And so on Friday when he said he was still sick, despite having no outward signs of being so...I looked at him through runny eyes, chapped running nose and with a hoarse voice and sore throat and attempted to explain to him lovingly that while I was sorry that he was under the weather, I have stared into the face of death itself and fought fever, chills, nausea and daggers in my throat since Tuesday. I have been to hell and it was not welcoming. But all that came out was a weak "you did this to me"...