02 Mar Man Colds…and Other Devastating Tales of Mild Illnesses.
I wouldn’t make a very good nurse.
At least I couldn’t nurse a man. There, said it. I cannot stand my husband when he is ill.
Yesterday I got a text just before he was due home.
“I’m feeling really really sick today so no chores please when I come home xx”
I think by chores he means general actions that keep the house livable in and not smelling like a tramps underpants such as emptying the kitchen bin which by yesterday was smelling like a foul nappy and garlic chicken.
Let’s rewind to the previous week where I had my swollen hot potatoey mastitis boob and a horrendous fever.
Despite this, I was up at 6am, kids up and dressed, fed, school run done, on to work, back home, house tidied and a nice hot tea waiting for my beloved upon his return.
I looked everywhere for a number to ring to say “Good morning, I feel like I may be dying so I’m ringing in sick to motherhood today. If you could send someone to rear my kids, walk the dog and run the business for me that would be just swell”.
No such number exists. Shit. It should.
To be fair it isn’t just that I’m a dreadful nurse.
He’s a terrible patient.
Cue lots of thrashing about on the couch, turning up of the heating & groaning interspersed with the same proclamation every so often….”I’m ill me”.
He is ill to be fair, I knew this as his snoring had been much worse than usual. I’ve been having to pinch his nose twice as hard to get him to gasp a satisfying frantic breath.
Sunday night I was a millisecond away from kneeling on his windpipe had he not have turned over at the last second. He will never know how close he came.
Please don’t think I’m saying for one minute that our significant others are in any way weak.
They show a tremendous amount of strength in every day life, my husband is a damn hard worker with responsibilities in the work place I really do not envy.
This is why I find their inability to get through illness astounding.
I think I know why it is though.
When men are ill they need their mummies. When mums are ill we are the mummies. We don’t have time to be lovingly blowing on their Lemsip to cool it down for them.
“Can’t you make me a chopped up egg in a cup with a bit of butter like Mum used to make?” He whimpered to me.
After I’d finished laughing I pointed out that we have no eggs…….or butter….but I will happily mash his balls up in a cup if he manages to find them.
So I have a new business idea. It’s a respite hospital for ailing men, run by women over 50. At the first sign of the dreaded sniffle you can pack their bags and ship them off for two weeks to the man hospital where they can have their fevered brow mopped, sip on tepid Lemsips and eat chopped up buttery eggs.
They are then returned to us after 2 weeks clean shaven, in perfect health and with their balls intact.
Now where is my Dragons Den application form…….