If memory serves me correctly, I've blogged before about various sicknesses I've had (it's tough to remember since I haven't written anything since early 2012). I'm about to do it again, which will definitely shed some doubt on my view that I have a really strong immune system. Be that as it may, this winter has hit me hard. Colds, a stomach virus, and influenza have been Kermit Washington to my Rudy Tomjanovich. All of this brought out a side to my wife that I had never seen before. Allow me to elaborate.
I, like most men, tend to vocalize often how awful I feel when I am sick. Jamie calls it complaining but my (self-serving) theory is that us men are used to being in such peak physical condition that when we are sick, we feel it much more than women. Again, this is just a theory. Another explanation is that the sickness affects our brain in such a way that we revert back to our childhood and subconsciously need a mother-figure to be sympathetic, tend to our every need, and basically baby us. It seems the female brain is not similarly affected. This is probably the more logical explanation but I like my theory much more.
I started off the winter with a nasty cold. A pretty common thing but it hit me hard and I as usual, consistently let Jamie know how I felt. She was gracious, compassionate, and generally took care of me (albeit with some eye-rolling, seeing as how she had the same cold). Then came the stomach virus. This was only a 24 hour bug but it was the kind that during those 24 hours you can't get warm. Then you can't cool off. Standing up only brings a near-menopausal heat wave and vomiting. The only relief is your face in the toilet followed by laying on the cool bathroom floor while you long for the sweet release of death. That may be a little dramatic but you get the idea. Again, Jamie was compassionate and caring.
As a side note, she had to go to work that day so I was in charge of taking care of 15 month old Savannah. Savannah basically took care of herself. All I did was change some diapers (one of which sent me and my face to the aforementioned toilet) and lay on the couch. She was totally fine all day, all by herself. At one point, she came to me with a banana. She can't even reach the bananas! I'll never know how she did it but I peeled it, sent her on her way, and laid back down. I'd bet that if anything ever happened to Jamie and myself, Savannah would go on just fine, finally emerging from the house at age 5 to catch the school bus for kindergarten.
Then came another cold, the presence of which I verbally made Jamie well aware. I believe this is where the cracks in her "compassion armor" started to form. One night during this cold, I started to get muscle aches so bad that I couldn't sleep. I felt my temperature rising and I developed a cough that could wake the residents of the hospital's coma ward. I stayed home from the office the next day and when Jamie got home I mentioned to her that I felt like I was getting another virus on top of my cold and that I didn't think that was possible. Apparently, neither did she.
"Just go to bed then! I don't want to hear any more complaining!"
I had finally broken her. She no longer believed me. I had made mountains out of molehills one too many times. No matter how sick I was, I was going to be getting nothing from her.
The next night, after I had to stay home during the day again, she brought me a thermometer to check my temp. I can only describe her countenance as she did this as "emotionless". There was nothing behind her eyes. No compassion. No sympathy. Not even anger. Nothing. Not even when the thermometer read 101. I had used up her generous allotment of loving care and I was on my own.
My weeks-long vocalization of sickness had pushed her over the edge of compassion, care, and sympathy into the realm of apathy and even near-mockery.For example, when I had to cancel a showing with some clients of mine (and good friends of mine and Jamie's) the wife mentioned to Jamie that she was sorry I was sick.
Jamie responded "Yeah right. Sick." with air quotes around the word "sick". One of the best parts of her wonderful nature was broken and it was all my fault. But it was soon to be made right. The solution? A diagnosis.
During day 4 of my couch-ridden ordeal, Jamie was visiting her sisters who are both nurses. She was telling them about what she was having to put up with at home and describing my "symptoms". Her sisters knew right away what it was. Influenza. They told Jamie in fairly strong terms that this year's strain is nasty and that people of all ages have been dying from it, not just the very young and the very old. The hospitals have been filled to capacity with people suffering from it. Jamie's broken sense of compassion was instantly made whole. She came home, immediately apologized, and said that she would try to make it up to me.
I was vindicated! I should have felt great about it but I didn't. Instead, I reflected on the 2 lessons I had learned. One for each gender. Here they are:
Women: If your man is sick, he will whine and constantly talk about how bad he feels. Let him. Take care of him. But when the time comes when it is just too much whining to handle, make sure he's not deathly ill. Then ignore him. Your compassionate nature will stay intact and he may learn to handle sickness better.
Men: When you're sick, SHUT UP AND DEAL WITH IT LIKE A WOMAN!
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