Turnabout is Fair Play: The Horrors of Nursing, Part II
A repost again today, because the ‘ick’ is on the other side of the bed, and it has caught Andra.
MTM has been a little under the weather the past couple of days. Nothing serious. And, he’s a good patient. Almost chipper. Never makes ridiculous, needy requests. Doesn’t moan and act pathetic, wallowing in his favorite chair like his world has ended. He actually smiles when I walk into the room.
What’s weird about his behavior is this: I don’t understand why he isn’t taking the opportunity to slam me with a big, honking dose of payback. For almost half of this year, I struggled with a nagging health issue, nagging being the operative word. I cried. I flung myself into bed, shouted for hot tea and sobbed for popcorn with butter. I adjusted the thermostat like it was a yo-yo. I stank. Really. Pew!
Most of all, I complained about my issue at every conceivable opportunity.
MTM: Did you hear the score of the Brewer game?
Me: No. I can’t HEAR. Because I’m STILL BLEEDING.
MTM: What should I sell next on Ebay?
Me: My uterus. Just rip it out and get it as far away from me as you possibly can.
MTM: I think I’m going to make risotto for dinner.
Me: Can you make popcorn? With melted butter? And can you rub some sticks of butter on the popped kernels and throw globs of it in the bowl with a whole container of salt? And bring it up to me in bed?
I am a shrew.
In the last two days, the most taxing thing MTM asked of me, his official nurse, was to pick up some bacon on my way home. Bacon. Who could POSSIBLY deny such a delightful request? The man is a Shining Beacon of Manly Perfection even when he feels peaked.
I want him to feel better soon.
Because I am tired of the horrors of nursing.
Because I love him to pieces.