It's tough being sick

OK my turn to whine. I'm not much of a whiner, really, but when I get my chance, I take it by the horns and hold on tight.  I thought I was out of the woods when I overcame my annual bout with pneumonia in February this year. Guess I was wrong. April and May bring strange and terrible pollens to the state of Georgia. These pollens have frightening effects on southerners.

Now I'll be the first to admit:  my husband babies me shamelessly when I'm sick. He really does, and that is unusual for a man. I'll also admit:  I suck it up. I love it. Sorry, but that's the truth. I don't think I ride it for longer than it's intended, but I sure do enjoy being babied every now and then.

My husband Marc is really the exception to the rule of most men. I'm going to try to tread lightly here, but men are terrible patients. They are. I have been with men who could have had a cold - a common, everyday, ordinary cold. To hear it from them though, they have an unnamed version of tuberculosis and pneumonia. No identified cure, no known treatments except constant pampering and babying. And they do not want to suffer alone, or in silence. No, no.....they want to lay themselves out in a common area, preferably a busy one, so that they can stop all household activity dead. Translation:  the spotlight is on them.

I am 50 now. I am onto the whole, "baby me and make me feel special" thing. In truth, my husband is just naturally giving and kind, so I don't have to wave my arms and say "look at me! look at me!" He just does it anyway. And I try to do it for him when he's sick. Thank goodness, he's not the sickly type.

Oh, wait, I think I need to turn over. I hope he's around to re-adjust the blanket for me when I do.