Tonight SwampMan decided to go to bed at 5:30 p.m., which was fine by me, because he was coughing and hacking in my vicinity. I cannot get sick with a URI or it could kill my bedridden stepdad with terminal COPD when I go to care for him during Mom’s doctor’s appointments, so I have a reason to be concerned!
Unfortunately, he didn’t stay there. He hacked and coughed and coughed and hacked, then came into the living room to spread the germs around a bit more just in case I hadn’t inhaled enough already. He sat down beside me, noted that I had made the meatloaf (although I hadn’t eaten any), and went to serve himself some. Then he changed the channel I was watching to a foreign movie with subtitles (to raise my cultural level, no doubt. Do I seem more cultured to you now?). FINE. I was going to read, but he likes to watch TV in the dark. So I sat in the dark reading a movie that I didn’t want to watch while a couple of feet away my husband periodically went into paroxysms of EXTREMELY LOUD coughing and snorting and nose blowing. He periodically said things like “Boy, I hope you don’t get this!” Oy. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I leapt to my feet and announced “I’m OUTTA HERE! I can’t take it anymore! I can’t get sick, and you’re coughing all over me!”
SwampMan said “FINE. I was just going back to bed ANYWAY.”
Argh. When I get a bad URI, I make it a point to confine myself to a different room than SwampMan until my symptoms improve so that I don’t pass it on. He HAS sick leave! I need to use every bit of my accumulated vacation and leave time to care for my stepdad and one of those dwindling days for taking care of the grandkids in two weeks while their dad is away and their mom is at work, because she’s used every bit of HER vacation time, too.
Tonight I’m taking vitamin D and Zicam and vitamin C. Grin. That’ll probably be about as useful as sacrificing goats during a full moon, but at least it makes me feel like I’m doing SOMETHING.