My hubby has a terrible cold. As is the case with most men, he is a terrible patient and a big baby all at the same time. He refused to go to the doctor, even though he has spent the last three nights sleeping in a sitting position so he won’t cough all night. He won’t take any medicine and he refuses to take a day off work to get some rest.
Apparently this is all my fault because I have failed at being Florence Nightingale. Let’s be clear – I have had some minor medical training (emergency medical technician, basic first aid, mother of four) – but when I tell him to see the doctor, take his medicine and stay home from work, I’m not being very helpful – I’m being a nagger. When I finally get frustrated enough to yell at him because he is being stupid and not even trying to get well – or I’m just plain tired of fetching him water when he refuses to take his medicine – or my sympathy has dried up after the one millionth complaint about how bad he feels — I’m not being a good nurse and it’s my fault that he is not recuperating.
It’s a darn good thing he doesn’t get sick very often – or I would definitely succeed at being Lizzie Borden!