Bigger Than Dating

Well, this past week has been less than romantic. As is life sometimes. Dating hasn't been on our schedule or minds.

My husband came home from work early late last week with a fever of 102. I attempted to give him acetaminophen to bring it down, but it fought with me and refused to break until around 9 pm, when I gave him a cold/flu tab with various medications in it. The heat just radiated off of him. My husband has always been very healthy, and the few times he's been sick since I've known him, he's bounced back quickly and with ease. He said he had never had a fever before that had caused him to feel so warm himself because every time he's ever had a fever, he gets the chills. Not this time. He was steaming and felt like it. I thought the fever had broken for good, but the next day it was back and as tenacious as ever. 102 degrees.

I don't know if it's the nurse in me, the control freak, or just the general job description of being a wife, but seeing my husband sick kicks on my worry machine and I go all out "I will defeat this" before the thermometer beeps for the first time. I want to make it better and to give comfort, but when someone's miserable, comfort can be hard to come by. Watching someone you love feeling awful makes you feel awful, too. Helpless. Like all you can do is watch because you can't protect your loved one from this or make it go away.

Over the weekend, I tended to him the best I could. Made him take various over the counter medications to treat his symptoms and still watched his temp hit 99. Pushed fluids like a crazy person. I cooked him turkey chili and made taco salads at his request. At least his stomach wasn't upset. The first thing my mom said when I mentioned he was sick was, "It's the eggs!" If there's a silver lining, it was that we didn't get sick from the egg recall. My husband, always one to surprise me. When I'm sick, the last thing I ever think is, "Mmmm. Chili sounds delicious."

As his fever subsided with the end of the weekend, we both expected him to start feeling better. His cough, which had been frustrating but we figured was simply along for the ride, suddenly took on a deeper, more jarring character. He started complaining of chest congestion and sinus pain. Well, not complaining. He doesn't complain. But he does answer when I list off every possible sign and symptom and ask if he has it. Thank you again, nursing school, for giving me a hefty, hefty list to draw from automatically.

He went to work Monday and met a chorus of coworkers who sang the same song I had sung earlier. It's called, "You shouldn't have bothered to come into work" and was certainly originally recorded by spouses everywhere. He didn't last long, as his cough increased and what little energy he had decreased. He threw in the towel and came home.

On Tuesday morning, I started calling the doctor's office at 10 until 9 and got a hold of someone at 9:10 am. Their only opening was at 9:30, so we fast forwarded through only necessities and practically raced into the office at 9:25. It was a brush your teeth but put off peeing until you get home later kind of morning.

We saw the doctor quickly and antibiotics were prescribed, a kind of which surprised me, but okay, let's kill it. I'm with you. But holy sh*t.

The doctor thought that he had an initial virus last week that weakened him enough for a bacterial infection to creep in. That's why he was getting worse instead of better.

I ran him home and then took a quick trip to the pharmacy (and to get ingredients for spaghetti - seriously, last week I stocked up on noodle soup, crackers, ginger ale, and jello and he's touched none of it). I came home to find him as I had for days, in bed. He's been either resting in bed or sleeping for a week. Sometimes he has to sit up in bed, often at weird night hours, because his chest congestion is too much for him laying down.

I listen to the coughing and hacking. Voice disintegrating more and more. Whatever this is, it's sure taking its time with him, settled in, and called relatives for reinforcements. As ready as I am for him to wake up and feel better, I imagine he's about twice as ready as that.

Even now, he's in bed. Medicated. Exhausted. Weary and weak. All I can do is bring him juice, keep the dog from trying to sleep on top of him, and wait. The nurse in me has an elaborate medication chart on the large white board in the office. We have too many medications to count to treat his symptoms. The control freak in me has cleaned every inch of the house (no way he'll reinfect himself!). And the wife in me, well, she's just watching him. From morning until... Morning. I don't hold back the murmuring consoling words, the back rub, or the furrowed brow.

Right now all I'm doing is waiting, worrying, and waiting. How wonderful were all those weekends, all those dates, all this time... When we felt well, healthy and happy. How easy it is to take that for granted until all of a sudden it is gone. How lucky we are to be fighting what is only a nasty infection or general flu-like illness, one that will leave as it came, and will, with all my hope, soon be nothing but a memory.