In Sickness and In Health

You say that in your vows. You picture it years later, possibly decades.

But every now and then you're just lucky enough to have a husband who gets tonsillitis less than a week after the honeymoon.

Thursday morning, Alex got up at a most unattractive hour to get ready for work. Those of us that are working summer programs for the school were still in bed because programs don't start until next week. He fumbled and he mumbled and he woke his wife up. So I said my piece and went back to sleep, none too happy.

Later on Thursday, I get a text from my husband saying that he was sorry for his lack of consideration that morning but he was just feeling really groggy and kind of sickly.

This text was followed by several more expressing that he might have a cold and a fever. I had a job interview that afternoon, but when I got home I found a very sad sight on my couch. A grown man, huddled under a down comforter, decked from head to foot in sweats, and shivering to boot. I immediately went into nurse mode-- I've seen my mom do it many times as a result of my traumatic relationship with my sinuses.

I started with leftover wedding cake, which was received with pleasure. But the night just got darker.

By Friday morning, it was firmly decided (by the wife, not the husband): a doctor's visit was in order.

He screwed his face into more pout faces than I knew he had in him, and Friday morning I watched my 25-year-old husband regress into a grumpy 4-year-old. Women across the board say this is a common symptom among sick men. My high energy, quick witted man turned into a belligerent toddler overnight, refusing to eat or drink and throwing in a magnitude of grumbles and pout faces.

The first diagnosis was strep throat. When his fever still raged on Saturday morning, we headed up to an Urgent Care for a second opinion. This time around, the doctor thought that strep was a plausible diagnosis but the more likely culprit was tonsillitis. He offered a shot to quicken the antibiotic and for a brief moment my husband was back, manning up for a very painful couple of shots of antibiotic and steroids. And then, right back to four year old Alex.

By that evening he had briefly reached a fever break, so we thought we'd brave Erica and Dee's tool & gadget shower. We had already missed another friend's shower that afternoon, and Alex was bound and determined to make one of the two. So out we went. And within five minutes of being there, the chills and fever were back. The result: a multitude of people wondering what kind of monster would drag her sick husband out of the bed for a shower.

So... back to bed. There was some force feeding of soup and Gatorade: just picture a picky child refusing to open their mouth, shaking their head vehemently, accompanied by adamant "Uh-uh's."

But this morning, by some miracle, my husband is back. The magic of modern medicine! It's like the full moon is over and the werewolf has returned to his human form. We've even gone to Lowe's to pick out a mailbox and painted the post in our garage. Back to productivity and back to happy, healthy Alex!

Luckily for me, Alex only gets sick once a year. Unlucky for him, he'll have to deal with Sick Lindsey ten times over before I encounter Sick Alex again. And I give him full license to complain about it when he has to be Nurse Alex.