Early last week, Steve arrived home from work and announced that he wasn't feeling well. I pretty much ignored him as I bounced a fussy Lincoln on my hip and tried to get Ruby to stop throwing her rice all over the kitchen floor.
He continued to tell me he really wasn't feeling well and put on some theatrics to go with it. The sighing. The groaning. The sitting down on the couch and staring off into space. Hand over his brow. It was all I could do to not roll my eyes at him. I mean, really? Really?? How bad can it be? Does he not see what I do every day? Through thick and thick, bad and good, shit storms, sick kids, kids that don't sleep, my own sleep deprivation - I keep on going. I have to. I figured he probably had too much too much free sushi on his lunch break today and he has the nerve to whine about not feeling well. Please. Suck it up.
Then he started spending extra time in the bathroom claiming diarrhea.
Diarrhea? Or an excuse to sit in the downstairs bathroom and read magazines while I work my tail off? Hmm? I was admittedly frustrated and not overly sympathetic to him.
I figured he had "man flu". You know the kind. It is equivalent to a woman getting the sniffles or a slight cold - but if am man gets it it is suddenly the WORST sickness EVER and he might even be DYING because it is SO BAD and a woman just wouldn't understand. You know the one?
Then he started throwing up. Does he have to throw up THAT LOUD??? Yes, darling. I can hear you puking all the way from the basement. In fact the neighbors and people driving by in their cars can hear you too. Yes, ok, you're throwing up. Can you do it a little more quietly? The children are sleeping.
Then he went to bed and I heard a strange noise coming from the bedroom. When I checked in there I discovered he was shivering. SHIVERING! Loud enough for me to hear him in another room! My god, the man flu theatrics were getting out of control.
When I finally crawled into bed I looked at him I noticed his skin was grey and his eyes were sunken. I touched him and his body was ice cold.
Hmph. Maybe he is sicker than I thought.
The next day he went to work so I knew he was fine after all. But after only a couple of hours he came home - which NEVER happens. He also had a free ticket to the Canucks game that night, in the swanky seats... and he canceled.
I was forced to admit then, that he was indeed really very sick. But by that time he was on the mend so I needed us to move on. Cold bitch that I am.
Until... a couple days later Ruby walked up to me looking strange and then she puked. As I was caring for her I realized that I myself didn't feel so hot.
Within two hours I was absolutely stricken with the worst flu I've had in recent memory - possibly ever. It was the kind of flu where I would run to the washroom and be forced to make the critical decision as to which end of my body to point at the toilet. And no matter which one I chose, it was a lose-lose situation as I left my dignity in a heap of dirty laundry on the bathroom floor.
Steve found me sprawled out on the bathroom floor, puke stuck to the side of my face, my pants around my ankles, soaking wet from cold sweat, shaking, hyperventilating, crying for help.
He stood at the door and looked and me and then cheerfully said, "I think you might have the man flu, babe!" And then he walked away.
'Spose I deserved that. I was forced to eat crow and admit that he really was sick and it wasn't just a man flu, it was the real deal and I was so, so, sooooooo sorry for not being more sympathetic and please, can someobody please just take mercy on me now!?
It was a long 3 or 4 days.
But just for the record I had it WAY worse than he did.