The biggest news from the Jedi Manor today is that, as of 7:00 last night, Hubs is down.
Influenza A, Round Two at Casa del Jedi.
With a severe sinus infection chaser.
Double whammy. When Hubs gets sick, he does it up right. He doesn’t mess around with the tame germs; he likes to get stuck with something that snarls and sports fangs.
If I’d wanted to be a full-time nurse, I would have taken classes like Calculation of Medication Dosages and Essentials of Nursing a Sick Husband. The reason that I never signed up for such classes while I was away in College Town was simple: Things that come out of the human body at lightning speed kind of make me queasy. And they kind of make me yearn for fifty-gallon drums of Clorox bleach. And also a nerve pill. Or nine.
When the boy is sick, he picks a spot (The sofa! In front of the TV!), and he never moves. The boy spent four entire days in that one location last week. When Hubs is sick, he becomes nomadic. I think it’s his call out to ancestors from years gone by, as they roamed the Great Plains, throwing sharpened sticks at wooly mammoths. Hubs starts in the bed, propped up on eighteen pillows so that gravity will help the sinuses drain. And then he migrates to the tub, because the Influenza-Fever-Chills have made him shake and tremble with all THE FREEZING! Then he starts to sweat in the tub, so he migrates to the sofa in the family room, because BIG SCREEN TV! AND ESPN! AND DOCUMENTARIES ON THE KENNEDY ASSASSINATION! And then the TV’s loudness begins to irritate him, so he grabs his blanket and migrates to the sofa in the living room, because of PEACE AND QUIET! (And because the fever is making him delirious, he doesn’t know that peace and quiet could have been achieved by pushing a single button on the television’s remote control.)
And, through it all, Hubs leaves behind sweatshirts, glasses half full of ginger ale, yogurt containers, socks, blankets, coffee mugs, and Advil bottles. He leaves these things in every single spot he visits.
If you’re going to nurse Hubs back to health, it really helps if you’re an LPN. You also need to be a registered MAID.
But I adore Hubs.
Even when he’s miserable and telling me that EVERY FIBER IN HIS BODY ACHES, AND HOW ON EARTH CAN A THROAT HURT THIS BADLY, AND WHY? WHY CAN’T HE BREATHE? AND WHEN CAN HE HAVE MORE ADVIL? AND DO I KNOW IF THE LAST ADVIL WAS MAYBE PARTIALLY DIGESTED BEFORE HE PUKED IT UP? AND CAN I BRING HIM ANOTHER GINGER ALE? WITH CRUSHED ICE, AND NOT THE FULL-OUT ICE CUBES? AND HE DROPPED HIS SPOON ON THE FLOOR, SO MAYBE HE MIGHT NEED ANOTHER ONE TO FINISH UP HIS YOGURT WITH, AND DO WE HAVE ANY EXTRA BLANKETS? ANY AT ALL? AND CAN I TURN THE FIRE CABINET ON? AND WHERE ARE HIS SOCKS, BECAUSE HIS FEET ARE COLD?
Well, Hubs is still a keeper.
And do you know who else is a keeper?
Well, the boy of course. He played some rough floor hockey tonight, against his buddy Carter’s team, and I think they had a good time, if the bright-red, sweaty faces were any indication!