Sewing My Mouth Shut or, What Not To Say To Your Bride
So, last week, I was sick. Not the type of sick that you, indeed, feel sick–maybe, even bad–but not diminished. Not the state of sickness that’s viewed more as an opportunity to eat large quantities of cereal, watch alternating episodes of White Collar and Psych which must end in an even number because neither of these series need feel slighted in your newly formed, anthropomorphized, shut-in, three person relationship, and to catch up on laundry. If you’re older–and by older, I mean, you’re a parent–this kind of sickness provides you the opportunity to listen to the radio as to update your faded knowledge of popular acts ever since that day you realized that you didn’t recognize any of the VJs on MTV or even (gasp!) VH1 (that’s still a music station, right?). Then, sick of this junk, you surrender to comfort and turning the dial to a station playing music closest to the decade in which you attended high school. Finally, unable find any good tunes, you playing, depending on your age range, the Beatles, Al Green, CCR, Lynard Synyrd, Carol King, Hall & Oates, Def Leppard, Boys To Men, Sublime, or the fail safe of all music collections, Bob Marley on vinyl, tape deck, CD, or MP3, because they all sound best on the medium they were originally recorded on with the exception of eight-track.
I wasn’t that kind of sick.
I was the kind of sick where sleeping became a gutsy, special forces training style, endurance test. I’d sleep, awakening suddenly because I’d stopped breathing, and then fall back into uneasy slumber because of exhaustion. Repeat that scenario until there’s so little oxygen circulating through your blood stream you don’t recall whether that occurred fourteen times or just once. Plus, all the other gross, obnoxious sickness stuff , too!
Now my poor wife has the bug. She feels terrible and I feel terrible for her. In fact, last night while watching TV, I said, probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever to my bride in effort to empathize. I said, ” You look terrible, honey, like you’re dead behind the eyes.”
And the rest, well, went like you might think it would go. Sorry, honey, feel better soon.