It’s not my fault my husband got sick. Jerk.
Maybe you could just leave a thermos of soup near the bed and go out to a movie instead?
Yeah. Mine got sick, ever so sick, sickest person in the history of the world kind of sick.
Then he infected me.
Then he went to NZ leaving me with the kids.
Jerk.
I second the thermos and movie idea.
Whatever happened to, “…in sickness and in health”?
I don’t know about the OP, but in my case that was before I knew mr.stretch was such a bad patient. Misery loves company in his case. And because I’m the opposite–I prefer to suffer alone and in silence to the extent possible–I want to distract mr.stretch from his woes with a well-placed hammer when the whining and demands get to be a little too much. YMMV.
This thread had a somewhat nebulous beginning, but I’ll try to pick up on the beat.
If I’m ailing, I’d rather deal with it myself. But if I really do need to avail myself of your offers of assistance, I’ll make that clear. And that means that I care not to burden you with my suffering - just give me the goddamn chicken soup and beat it!
I won’t burden you with my suffering when I’m sick either, but I do seem to have a knack for making sure YOU KNOW I’M TRYING NOT TO BURDEN YOU WITH MY SUFFERING.
whimper whimper
Well, the thing is, I’m not good at feeding people in the best of circumstances. (Why is this supposed to be my job, anyway?) It seems lately that my husband and daughter always look like baby birds in a nest with their beaks open, screeching at me. "FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD!!!’
So, he said, “I think I need to eat something before you leave.” I had already made him scrambled eggs and toast around 3:30 p.m. and it was about 6:00. I was going out to a play with my daughter and friends because he was sick, but our friends had already bought the tickets. I offerred to stay home, but no, he wanted me to go.
So, after listing several choices, I made him tortellini and broccoli. First he said, “If I knew what I wanted I’d be halfway there.” Okay. Trying really hard to be nice. But get out of the kitchen with your germs. I mean your virus.
On Thursday, when the darling daughter had to come home from school sick, I was really impressed with him. They were supposed to call me at work, but the called home. So he put on some pants and his coat over his pajamas and went to get her. She wasn’t as sick, though. She went back to school the next day.
But I have been thinking: what if he ever gets cancer or something? Or has to be put in a body cast? What If I was my friend, I’ll call her Lola, who has a boy in a wheelchair? He has been that way since the age of 3 months and he is now about 14. He is actually going through puberty and she has to change his diapers, etc. Every day. I have no idea how she does it. He can’t do anything and doesn’t really know what is going on, but he does go to a special school. But in the summer he is home all the time and she is home with him.
Geez I have such an easy life!
It is good that you recognize it. Now print out the above, and carry it with you, and every time you feel angry and resentful about the demands your family puts on you, read it to regain perspective. You may then decide to fulfill or not fulfill the family demands, but at least you should be able to do either without anger or resentment.
When my family is in this mode, I call myself the Goddess of All Calories and Nutrition.
CubHubby is really bad at being sick, too. But the thing is, he **did **get cancer. I think it’s just when we suspect they are being overly dramatic that we get annoyed by waiting on them hand and foot. When it is real and serious, the resentments don’t mean as much. At least they didn’t for me.
Rub some Noxema on his chest and nipples…
When my relatives, roomies or whatnot whimper, apart of checking them for fever and so forth, I recall the following story:
This guy, who had gone from his mother’s milk to beans and whose idea of lunch includes at least 4 dishes (90% proteins), well washed with beer and wine both, had been feeling kind of bothered by a sortofpain on his side for several days. Being more macho than a fighter bull, he hadn’t said a thing and had gone on eating as usual. One day, he decided that the black bean soup must’a landed real bad, because his side is definitely hurting.
So he gets on the railcar to go to the hospital, this was in the 50s. Gets off at the first stop because it gets worse in the railcar, walks 3 miles to the hospital. All this without calling his family. When his daughter, who used to help at the store, got there after school, she found the store closed, went home, and when she was telling her mother “I don’t know where Pa is, store is closed and there isn’t any signs on the door” the phone rang: it was the hospital, informing them that Pa was just out of surgery for exploded peritonitis.
If he’d said “ouch” when he started feeling ouchy, instead of being Mr Macho, it would have been just a regular apendicits… still surgery, but he wouldn’t have been within this >< of losing his life. The doctors guessed that the point when he thought “gee, I may need to see a doctor” was where it exploded.
So I hate whimpering but heck, at least when they whimper you can tell them “aw, you’re such a baby”